


We're All America Rejects

by fayevsessays



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayevsessays/pseuds/fayevsessays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For as long as she can remember it’s always been her and Santana against the world. Against parents, popularity and cheerleading coaches. Just them with their Sunday pancakes, morning sex, and plans to get out of Lima. And then Brittany happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 2010 Glee Femslash Big Bang

Quinn squirms in the middle seat. She hates this seat with a passion. No matter how many times she sits in it, the hard and stiff cushion never seems to mold to her ass. And it’s noisy. Yet it’s always the seat she ends up in, positioned as the neutral ground between the other two seats, in between.

Quinn bites her bottom lip and reflects how the positioning of the seats says a lot about her life.

“Now Children...”

Quinn pulls at a stray piece of cotton unwinding from the bottom of her ‘Night of the Living Dead’ shirt. Just to clarify, another reason she hates the chair she’s sitting in is because it’s in the middle of the Principal’s office.

The room isn’t particularly intimidating. It’s accessible via glass doors and is strewn with framed certificates that Quinn can recite back to people from memory. Not that she does.

It’s made even less intimidating by the man who’s called them into see him. Principal Figgins. He sits opposite her, and the two people occupying the chairs to her left and right, behind a large desk. A small American flag is perched at the front of the desk.

It’s the safest place for her to stare.

“...I would like to hear exactly what happened between the three of you in the cafeteria.”

She focuses on the little flag and winces as voices erupt from both sides. She’s used to it, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t like her eardrums enough to subject herself to the voices trying to overlap each other in a vain attempt to tell their side of the story.

“Lopez just sucker-punched me as I walked by-”

“Oh please Puckerman, I didn’t even-”

“How do you explain my nose-!”

“It’s still attached to your face. You’re welcome!”

“-blood! I’m bleeding.”

Quinn flickers her eyes away from the flag to watch Figgins crumble under the assault of their voices. As he usually does. She feels a tiny bit sorry for him in general. He’s got a lot of things going against him;

1\. His height.  
2\. His growing bald patch.  
3\. His oblivious nature.  
4\. A really bad youtube advert.  
5\. His unconscious submission to the school’s cheerleading coach, Sue Sylvester.

 

But really no one deserved to have to deal with the almost daily clashes she and Santana, the pissed looking girl next to her, got into with jockstraps such as Noah Puckerman.

Quinn is often surprised in the mornings to see the school still standing. She swears by seeing Figgins hauling large amounts of gasoline into the school one afternoon and has been waiting for the inevitable news that William McKinley High School has been burnt to the ground to accompany her breakfast.

“Mr Puckerman-” He attempts to defuse the situation the situation before either Puck or Santana get to their feet and physically settle their differences. They’d be there a long while. There’s a lot of differences.

“I’m like drowning in a pool of blood over here!”

“If you hadn’t harassed me and Quinn then maybe you-”

As the verbal war continues Figgins shoots her a look that Quinn can only interpret as ‘I-knew-you-were-involved-in-this-somehow.’

“Santana!” She hisses to her friend.

Santana is clutching her knuckles threateningly and gleaming wickedly at Puck. Probably imagining 101 other things she can drown Puck in next time. The boy on Quinn’s left glares back with equal intensity.

There will no doubt be bruises on Santana’s knuckle in the morning but compared to Puck, Quinn observes, they got off lucky this time.

“Miss Lopez, Mr Puckerman, if the both of you do not sit down I will be forced to have someone restrain you-” Figgins stresses his words with a heavier accent as he becomes more and more frustrated.

Danger is sensed. Getting suspended is not on Quinn’s to-do-list.

Her nails find Santana’s knee and dig just enough to attract Santana’s attention. The fuming girl calms enough for her to lock eyes with Quinn and stop shouting. Her posture softens imperceptibly but Puckerman is oblivious to the wave of relaxation that overcomes Santana. Quinn doesn’t move her hand, just in case.

Puck splutters nonsensically, blood still dribbling into his mouth, about what Santana did until Figgins is finally able to silence him with a look.

The guilty parties, and Quinn, simmer down to allow Figgins to assess their damages. Quinn turns to look as well.

Santana is coming off fight adrenaline. Her hands are grazed up from missing a few swings to Puck’s head and hitting the floor instead, but other than that she’s relatively undamaged.

Puck, on the other hand, is in worse form. Quinn had watched Santana’s second swing catch the side of Puck’s nose, and if it’s not broken, then it’s definitely fractured. Red blotches wrinkle down his white shirt and blend into his red letterman jacket.

The presence of the jacket is usually enough for Santana to want to start a fight, even if it’s only verbal, and if it’s Puck - then usually more.

Quinn feels lucky to be unscathed considering how suddenly it all happened. Except now she has to deal with all the nerves without any war wounds to show for it. If they get suspended, Quinn is going to strangle Santana with her converse laces.

“Is it not possible for one of the three of you to give me a clear and honest recount?” Figgins presses. There’s a hint of pleading furrowed in his brow that makes his efforts worthless. That and the fact he’s half disappearing down his desk signs away any chance of someone confessing.

Santana’s hand brushes against Quinn’s on her knee. They stay silent knowing that Figgins is almost waiting for a plausible excuse to kick at least one of them out before their final exams. Even Puck, who has taken to mopping up his nose on his jacket, glances to them daringly but keeps his mouth shut.

Figgins sighs, exhausted with them, and Quinn feels slightly more sorry for him. It’s not the first time they’ve all been before him; though the injured party changes from time to time, and it probably won’t be the last.

However if any of them were going to explain what happened truthfully, Figgins would have to understand that Santana was totally justified to drive her fist into Puck’s face.

Quinn’s nose flares in annoyance over how the fight started.

 _Puck’s swagger was overcompensating in an exaggerated manner for the lack of football lackeys walking behind him. Santana had snorted in amusement at his strut as he headed in their general direction, before returning her attention to Quinn and her Spanish notes. Somehow Puck had heard the noise of undisguised disgust and returned to confront them._

 

In Santana’s defense, Quinn reasons to the imaginary jury, if Puck had learnt after their last confrontation that his jock-status and sexual advances towards Santana was enough for the girl to launch over the table to deck him; then he wouldn’t be sitting mopping up blood now.

And really, he shouldn’t have made it worse by flinging a comment at Quinn either. That’s suicidal.

The rest of the fight, apart from it topping Quinn’s clothesline to a sophomore last year as the most memorable thing to happen in the cafeteria, was easy to decipher.

“Nothing to declare, at all?” Figgins rubs his hands over his knuckles in an impatient fashion. It’s a good sign, Quinn knows, that he doesn’t have the energy to keep them here any longer.

She mutters ‘no suspension’ in hope repeatedly under her breath and waits for some sort of miracle. Puck raises an eyebrow.

Quinn raises her eyes to the picture of Jesus pinned on the wall behind Figgins desk. Looking at it doesn’t impress as much Christian guilt as it would have in the past, but according to Santana when she looks up at it her expression turns to one of remorse and regret.

Quinn pauses. Santana’s exact words were more along the lines of ‘You look like the sun could shine outta your a-’.

“If no one is going to confess to having started the fight,” Figgins narrows his eyes at each of them in turn.

Quinn mutters again.

And her miracle comes.

A voice in the distance makes Figgins pale considerably as he looks from his desk to the corridor outside. Quinn knows that voice and is sitting frozen hoping it’s not going to come any closer. Santana turns around.

“Sylvester.”

It’s both the worst and best thing that can happen to them.

Worst because ever since an incident in her freshman year that involved a sharpie and an entire wall in the girl’s bathroom Quinn has been at the very top of Sue Sylvester’s hit list.

Best because Sue scares the crap out of Figgins and as much as he wants to punish them for fighting in the cafeteria, he has a duty to stop Sue from killing Quinn and painting half the school in her clever, yet always attached to trouble, blood.

“I suggest-” He mumbles keeping an eye on the cheerleading coach. “- you all make haste and leave this office. I do not want to see any of you back on school property until 9 o’clock tomorrow!”

Quinn’s lungs deflate and Santana grabs her shoulder preparing to slip past Sylvester and away. They must rise too fast as Figgins interrupts their exit.

“Do not misunderstand me. If any of you are back in my office again you will be sus-pended!”

Quinn nods obediently while Santana scuffs her shoe on the floor and Puck shrugs nonchalantly.

They escape in the opposite direction to the tracksuit wearing coach, regretfully with Puck, hoping she doesn’t spot them.

Quinn and Santana are a safe distance away when Puck snaps. He points a blood stained finger at them threateningly and tries to speak as clearly as he can with a broken nose.

“You owe me for not opening my mouth back there-” He snarls at them. His eyes gleam at the thought of Santana being in his debt.

Quinn scoffs at his hunching form.

“Don’t even try it Puckerman.” Quinn spits out, looking up and down the corridor, and takes a step forward. She’s pleased when he takes a step back, even if it’s only because Santana hovers closely behind her.  
“You started this.”

Quinn expects him to deny it. Her words mean more than just the start of one fight, but rather more to the start of the unspoken dislike of each other which came about when they fought for the first time.

Quinn isn’t responsible for Santana’s actions against him after what he called her.

“And if we owe you. Then you certainly owe us more.” Santana steps up beside her, whispering so as not to alert Sue Sylvester or her squad of Cheerleader spies. “What was it again? One more vouch of sexual harassment and Figgins is kicking you out right?”

Puck flushes an angry red. His teeth, stained red, grind at Santana’s words. Everyone knows his record is bigger than theirs.

“So I suggest that you run along to the nurse’s office,” Santana stands in line with Quinn, hand on her hips, mockingly. “Like a good little boy.”

Puck’s hands shake from the restraint he’s making not to rise to Santana’s taunting words. He stalks off towards a bathroom only twisting back to swear at them;

“Fuck you Lopez.”

Quinn laughs through her teeth as Santana lazily flips up an offensive ‘V’ motion. Puck quickly disappears into a bathroom.

“He wishes. Dick.” Santana smirks before looking at her triumphantly. Quinn breathes out a sigh of relief but doesn’t fight how Santana’s expression infects hers and they stand grinning stupidly in the middle of a deserted hallway.

Until they hear a resounding shriek of ‘You let them do WHAT?’ in Sue Sylvester’s thundering voice.

Quinn fearfully glances in the direction of Figgin’s office.

“I think a jog would be best.” She throws to Santana.

Her partner in crime is ahead of her, grabbing her hand with her own bruised one and tugging.

“Run!” She jokes.

Their feet find the freedom of the gravel outside before Sue even leaves the office, and as the early afternoon sunshine beams on them; Santana stumbling next to her, Quinn remembers how it all started.

~

 

Seventh grade was the year Quinn met Santana, and in a way started walking down the route she’d continue all the way to her senior year. She just didn’t know it at the time. In 7th Grade all that really mattered to Quinn was the discovery of how many different colours you could buy converse in, being as different to her older sister as possible and handing in her math homework on time.

Seventh grade was also the year she first landed in detention.

The reason Quinn was there was a pure accident. After pleading with the teacher for a good twenty minutes she’d managed to be excused to go to the girl’s bathroom. And even that only occurred when she threatened to throw up all over her desk. Not that she actually felt sick or anything. After doing her business she'd come out of one of the stalls in the bathroom, innocently making her way towards the sinks, only to see a girl, that wasn’t there when she arrived, scrawling on the wall in a black pen.

Her sudden appearance obviously startled the culprit - no doubt because of her combination of shirt and ripped jeans (middle schoolers were so easy) - who dropped the pen and fled.

The graffiti, by Quinn's standards today, was weak. The girl had been half way through declaring someone called 'Suzy Pepper' to be a number of things that in the language of 7th graders was the equivalent of a whore.

Naturally Quinn had been concerned and sympathetic. She didn't know who the heck Suzy Pepper was, but no one needed to read that when coming out of using the bathroom.

The pen found it’s way into her hand and she scribbled over the words until they couldn't be seen. In the end there was just an odd square shape defacing the wall.

When Quinn tilted her head after finishing it had looked like a dog.

An hour and a missed lunch later it was a dog, attached to a leash being led by a girl wandering into some sort of fun fair. The drawing had expanded, on its own of course, across mirrors and another wall. Once Quinn had started she hadn’t been able to contain herself. She wasn’t the most amazing drawer by any standards, but the liberating feeling of defacing something kept her scribbling and adding more and more to the public art.

And then it all went to hell when another student came to use the bathroom.

Five minutes later she was sitting with her head in her hands outside the Principal’s office wondering why didn't she just stop with the damn dog.

She'd never been in the Principal’s office before, and at the time she vowed never to end up there again; it had scary posters plastering the walls stating what a life of delinquency led to and a secretary that typed so slowly there was a noise confusion with the clock.

She wasn't the only one there. Across from her was some kid wrapped in a blanket who kept muttering something about fascism against fashion and corsets. Quinn had no idea what fascism meant. He kept glancing in disdain at her and at the other occupant of the room, who sat next to her.

She was dark skinned girl with glasses edging off her nose. She had her feet kicked up on a table and arms crossed over her chest. Her narrow eyes screamed angry and Quinn hadn't dared to look at her since the girl had chosen to sit next to her. Every few seconds the girl muttered something under her breath. Unlike with the boy, Quinn couldn’t decipher what she was saying.

It was a painful few minutes until the boy in the blanket was called in. The large principal, who looked like a deformed walrus, jabbed his pudgy finger at the girl next to her. Quinn twitched at the thought of that same finger pointing at her.

"...then I'd like to speak to you Santana, and you can explain to me why you were found with cigarettes on school property." He spluttered his words like there was too much saliva in his mouth. Quinn gagged.

She didn't think it was very professional of him to broadcast what, this, Santana was seeing him for. Neither did Santana apparently and quickly made a rude hand gesture, that Quinn balked at ,behind the Principal’s back.

"What?" She confronted Quinn, who’s mouth still hung open. "It’s not even true."

Santana looked defensive and ready to verbally assault Quinn into oblivion if she disagreed. Quinn chose to focus on the black mark on the tip of Santana's high tops.

"Then why are you here?" She asked meekly.

Santana scoffed, not expecting a question, and slumped back into her seat. She defiantly placed her feet back on the table and glared quickly when the Secretary looked at her affronted.

"I found them on the floor, some other kid dropped them. Obviously I was going to throw them away." She turned up her nose but her eyes softened and Quinn stopped feeling like Santana was going to yell. "Besides smoking is disgusting."

Quinn almost believed her. And then she saw her pocket.

"You might wanna hide that then if that's what you're going to say." Quinn subtly pointed towards the rectangular shape bulging in the girl's jean pocket. She’d seen Santana around school. They didn’t have any classes together but a few of her friends had gushed over a girl who carried around a lighter and waved it around in a few of her classes.

Santana jumped slightly, as if she had forgotten about it, and then looked Quinn up and down.

"What’re you here for?" She inquired and Quinn had a sneaking suspicion that she was being examined. Her palms sweat and something felt stuck in her throat. Santana coolly kept her gaze on her.

"Um, graffitiing the bathroom." Quinn picked at the knee of her jeans while Santana took in her crime. Then it hit her a little more. She’d defaced public property. She was going to be in so much trouble.

As unsure as her voice sounded Santana seemed to be impressed. Either that or she didn't have enough time to hide the zippo lighter elsewhere before she thrust it towards Quinn trustingly.

Quinn's hand tightened around the tin square and promptly stuffed it into her bag between her CD player and history books.

"When do you want it back?" Quinn asked. From over Santana's shoulder she could see the blanket boy being handed a shirt and the Principal start to stand.

Santana shrugged and swept a hand through her long hair casually. Quinn swallowed hard.

Before she could receive an answer Santana was being hauled out of her seat and led away.

Quinn protectively pushed her bag under her seat and watched Santana go. She shrugged the Principal’s hand off her shoulder as they walked into his main office and turned to Quinn.

"I'll see you in detention." Santana called back jokingly.

It was a joke that proved to be oddly veritable.

Santana had smirked knowingly at her when they both landed in a Saturday morning detention the next weekend. Quinn blushed furiously; half from the fact she was at a weekend detention with her ears still ringing with her Father’s subdued fury and the other half from Santana’s almost proud look.

She avoided the eyes of the teacher monitoring them and slid into a seat opposite Santana. They were not to talk, they were not to move and they were not allowed to text, listen to music or bother the teacher supervising them.

Santana ends up passing her a piece of paper five minutes in with the words ‘Breakfast Club much?’ written in a surprisingly neat script. Quinn smiles lightly and dips a hand into her pocket. She clasps the lighter in her fingers and hides it underneath the paper - now containing her answer- and quietly pushes it back.

When Santana smiled over her reply of ‘I’ve never really liked that movie.’ a part of her knew that she was probably going to be seeing a lot more of the inside of the library on Saturday mornings.

~

 

If anything Santana’s frustration over her fight with Puck increases with every step they take away from William McKinley High School. It’s not obvious in her face but Quinn knows Santana too well to ignore the other signs of agitation. Like the possessive and protective way her arm is flung over Quinn’s shoulders and has been since leaving the school. How her fingers twitch restlessly on Quinn’s collar. How Santana won’t meet her eyes.

It wasn’t the first time Puck has given them a great deal of trouble. He’s had a problem with Santana, and by default Quinn, ever since she turned him down at the start of high school because she saw him tossing people into dumpsters. There were other reasons, one including the fact she hated him and his friends, two because she was already taken by that point, and three because Puck and his jock friends hadn’t even taken three steps into their first day of high school before they had turned their taunting attacks against the current social disaster of the school.

Which just happened to be Quinn at the time.

Santana’s knuckles are grazed and her nail-polish is chipped at the edges, it distracts Quinn from thinking about that first day back from the worst summer of her life. She shakes her head, Quinn can’t remember if Mercedes has any medical tape left at her house.

Their joint pace increases and they cross a road. Santana steers her more purposely. They’re not headed home. An unimportant road name flashes past as they walk, but it’s the telltale landmarks that reveal to Quinn their intended path.

Quinn pulls at the hand on her shoulder to inspect it.

“I don’t think I’ve got any more black nail polish.”

Santana lets her hand brush against Quinn’s face. The grazes on her knuckles tickle her cheek.

“But, I’ve got some pink somewhere if you want.”

She looks. Santana’s hard stare crumbles slightly and taps her knuckles swiftly against Quinn’s face.

“Like hell you have.” She remarks glancing across at Quinn.

It’s true. The pink belongs to Kurt.

Santana’s arm relaxes around her and puts a minute distance between their bodies. Quinn shivers. She follows Santana’s quick step towards a white wash store. Quinn grins at the red retro-esque sign.

‘Schuester’s’

The sight of Santana’s intended ‘cool-off’ place warms her again.

Schuester’s is their place. Quinn thinks the name makes it sound like a dodgy bar or something that stocks it’s own illegally brewed alcohol. Santana says she only thinks like that because the Schuester who owns it (by the name of Will) is a high school drop out who likes to relive his musical golden years through his customers. It’s a timeless record store that’s barely, yet reluctantly, been updated from it’s 1950’s design for the iPod generation. And it’s the closest thing to a slice of heaven Quinn has.

Their pace slows as they get closer, as if they’re savoring the moment of looking upon the place. Grass pokes out from under the sidewalk making the street look unkempt. The sun shines down hotly on the back of her neck and Santana’s arm burns into her like it means something more.

Schuester’s Records is a hole in the wall, missable even, because of it’s sun faded poster and paint chipped door. It’s flagged on either side by other buildings; a run down bakery and a small hardware store.

To most of Lima there are other, more modern and run by less bohemian people, stores.

To Quinn, it’s one of the most beautifully vintage places she’s ever set foot in.

It’s another 7th grade discovery that has changed her life. Way back then walking through Schuester’s doors was a strange experience. Will Schuester himself was odd, welcoming and had even odder hair. He’d smiled them in and carried on singing through the CD aisles drawing laughter from the few other customers there.

Santana had almost pulled them out of there before he’d even finished his song. But Quinn didn’t want to go. Quinn liked his odd hair and his mix-match records. She liked his rendition of Young MC’s ‘Bust a Move’. So they stayed.

At first it was just her and Santana. It was always just them because for a long time it was all they had. Gradually they grew and their friendships did too. Usually Schuester’s is filled with friends. Quinn’s lab partner Tina and her boyfriend Artie join them in the music booths on most days and they lounge to whatever Schuester has on. Sometimes they bully Finn, the shop assistant, into switching the records to suit their daily tastes. On rare and particularly good days Santana even lets him sit with them. And it is rare because Santana really doesn’t like Finn. Quinn still can’t figure that out.

All the memories and the images of the shop fill her mind and by the time Santana is pushing open the door Quinn has a side splitting smile.

A bell chimes.

“Honey I’m home!” Santana yells out. Quinn sniggers at an old lady looking through ‘The Clash’ CDs who jumps when Santana calls out.

The sound of shoes squeaking and stumbling over boxes follows, and tumbling from out of the music booths at the back is a boy of almost giant proportions.

“Quinn!” His bright smile fills his face only to be subdued for his next greeting. “Santana.”

Santana eyes him. Quinn nudges her elbow into the girl’s ribs. A silent ‘Be nice to Finn.’

“I was just sitting out back, Will is- I mean Mr Schuester let me take my break-” Finn babbles like an excitable child about his morning and afternoon. Quinn likes Finn. He’s likable in a little-brother-who-you-don’t-see-too-often way.

But Quinn can see why Santana finds it easy to make fun of him.

“-I was just listening to some KISS er,”

Quinn ducks her eyes down to ignore the way he sort of stares at her lips when he says that. Santana pulls her closer.

“We’re just going to take a booth.” Santana grinds out. “Bad day. Can you do your job?”

Finn stops abruptly and swallows the rest of his words. A blush rises on his neck and he fiddles with the collar on the black shirt Schuester makes him wear.

“Is Will around?” Quinn asks politely, hoping for a responsible adult that possibly possesses medical tape. Or nail polish.

“No. He’s gone to get lunch. Do you guys, maybe,” Finn looks hesitantly at Santana. “I can call him if you’re hungry?”

Santana twitches impatiently by her side so Quinn just nods in response. Finn gives her a weak smile and his eyes finally dart to the arm around Quinn’s shoulders, and to Santana’s knuckles. His face whitens.

“Bad day?” He asks.

“Schuester better be getting Chinese.” Santana untangles herself from Quinn and heads to the music booths at the back, leaving Finn and Quinn watching her back.

“She, um, we - got into another fight with Puckerman.” Quinn relates to him. Finn’s jaw tightens. He’s never cared for Puck, even during the two years he spent in high school before dropping out. Something about a girl they both liked, which incidentally ended up not going out with either of them, Quinn pretends not to remember the details.

“Chinese?” Finn’s hand picks up the phone and dials for Schuester.

“And Coldplay.” Quinn suggests. Nothing can bring Santana’s mood up like her choice of bands and food. Except maybe Quinn.

Quinn leaves Finn to negotiate food from Schuester and makes her way to the booths.

The music booths are one of the best things about Schuester not redecorating or refurbishing the store. The booths line the back of the store like little glass greenhouses in a sturdy wooden frame. When sat inside or passed out on the floor like what usually occurs, they’re invisible to the rest of the shop. When all is quiet, with just the sultry sounds of Coldplay or Rob Thicke or The Smiths to keep them company, Quinn likes it best to pile the cushions in the booths to one end and lay down. The booths are their nests. And Quinn and Santana are birds that don’t like to fly that nest.

They have a favourite. It’s the one in the middle, which again says so much about her life, not the corner like people usually expect of them. It’s the biggest; on a good day Quinn has seen Santana, Tina, Artie and even Finn manage to spread out on the floor, even with Artie’s wheelchair.

The middle booth has seen Quinn through a lot. It’s seen her pass her melodramatic pop days, her darker Nirvana days to her current acoustic days. It’s seen a lot of conversations, laughs, cries, and kisses.

The door is stiff to open, but on managing it Quinn leans against the door for a second. Santana flicks the lighter in her hand. She’s spread out on the floor with a cigarette in her lips.

Quinn knows she should hate Santana smoking. It’s a bad habit. It’s nasty, etc. But Santana, Quinn sighs, somehow stops Quinn from being concerned. Acting like she’s untouchable.

Santana lights her cigarette and winces when she flips the zippo shut. Her grazes are turning a purplish colour.

“Next time,” Santana breathes out smoke as ‘Yellow’ filters through the dusty speaker in the corner. “I will break his nose.”

Quinn closes the door with a final look outside to Finn. He gives her another weary smile and Quinn feels a little sorry for him.

“Next time,” Quinn starts. “You won’t rise to it.”

Seconds pass and Santana takes another drag, humming along. Quinn slides to the floor next to her.

“The last thing we need is for you to get suspended this late on in the year.” It’s just approaching April and Quinn is already on edge that Santana is going to get kicked out before finals. And that is not part of ‘The Plan’.

“No lectures today Q.” Santana rubs her head and groans. “Figgins has already given me a headache.”

“I don’t think you’d have a head if Sylvester had caught up to us.”

“Preach.”

Quinn wants to pluck the cigarette out of Santana’s fingers. She wishes Schuester’s stocked ice packs instead of Vanilla Ice.

“I’m fine.” Santana searches her concern. Quinn nods and touches her elbow.

“I know.”

They stay in silence until the start of ‘Fix You.’

“You’ve got reading to do haven’t you?” Santana points out. Quinn’s bag is tucked under the bench in the booth from the last visit.

“It’s Shakespeare, you don’t wanna hear it.” Quinn twirls a piece of hair behind her ear.

“I want to hear your voice.” Santana urges and shuffles her body closer. She turns her head to blow the smoke away. “I need to get the delightful image of pounding Puck’s face out of my head before I repeat it on Finn.”

“I don’t know why you have such a problem with him.” Quinn grabs the small play book out of her bag and flips through the pages. “He’s sweet.”

“Are you serious? He follows you around like your the seconding coming.”

“I thought you liked me being the second coming.”

“Q.”

Quinn’s smile drops. “Alright, I know. But he knows I’m not interested in him. He’s only latching on because he misses-”

“Say her name and I’ll have an even bigger headache.” Santana rolls her eyes. Quinn laughs because of how badly Santana tries to act indifferent to the almost mention. “Just bore me with the Romeo shit.”

“It’s Twelfth Night actually.”

“I don’t care if it’s Alice in freaking wonderland. Read.” Santana’s hand covers her eyes until Quinn is half way through a page. Her cigarette gets smaller and her eyes grow warmer. Quinn can feel the tension slipping out of her body with every word. The music helps too.

Time passes fluidly. It isn’t getting darker but it isn’t getting any busier. It feels an age since they were running from school. Finn drops in with boxes and chopsticks like a peace offering. Quinn almost asks him to stay but they’re at a crucial point in ‘Twelfth Night’, Sebastian - Viola’s brother- has just returned, and Finn staying would ruin and complicate the atmosphere she’s created for Santana.

The visits don’t stop there. Tina passes through shortly after they’ve finished the food. Exchanging math and history essays for idle chat and plans for some other time. Artie is absent.

It’s only when the music winds down and leaves them in quiet does Quinn feel relaxed. Santana is curled towards her, her ankle underneath Quinn’s outstretched leg. The air smells of smoke and spices.

“I-”

Quinn jumps a little because it’s been awhile since either of them spoke. Santana’s face is frozen and in debate. She’s forcing words out.

“If he hadn’t been such a dick I wouldn’t have punched him.” Santana offers.

“If he wasn’t such a dick then you wouldn’t even know who he was.” Quinn reasons. Her hand finds Santana’s and brushes along her knuckles.  
“But I know what you’re trying to say.”

Santana sits up against the side of the booth. “You do?”

Quinn nods.

“I forgive you.”

For a split second Santana looks relieved, and then she realizes and replaces it with an arrogant scowl.

“Whatever.”

Quinn presses her thumb on one knuckle and tugs gently. Santana spies her movement and tilts her neck to face her. The air tries to push them closer faster, but to no avail.

There’s a sudden fist knocking on the glass.

“Guys!” Finn says before almost separating the door from it’s hinges. “Mr Schue is locking up. He told me to come get you.”

Quinn hates his timing; his stupid hair and too-small black shirt. Santana pushes off roughly from the ground and pulls Quinn with her. Finn finds himself pushed to the side as Santana walks out of the booth.

“Sorry.” Finn whispers.

“It’s alright,” Quinn attempts. Finn shrugs.

“Bad day.”

Quinn sends a wave to Mr Schuester, who is drumming on the counter, as she passes him. Finn says goodbye loud enough for Santana to hear it and Quinn wishes he hadn’t.

“C’mon.” Quinn fists the back of Santana’s shirt in her hand. “You’ll have to stay with me tonight. You are way too pissed off to go home.”

Santana doesn’t protest and lets Quinn guide her away from the final lock up actions of Schuester’s. The sky glows and Quinn looks to it in hope.

~

 

Quinn is up to her eyes in smoke and Spanish translations an hour later. The walk home to Mercedes’ house was uneventful, with Santana humming under her breath and Quinn guessing the song, right up to the doorstep.

Mercedes had rolled her eyes from the hallway when Quinn dragged Santana through the door with her. Thankfully her friend just returned to the living room and to the sounds of ‘Project Runway’ instead of asking what was up with Santana’s face. Both Quinn and Mercedes are used to the routine by now.

Quinn’s room, which formerly belonged to Mercedes’ brother, isn’t painted. There’s a yellowish white underneath all the posters that have been put up over the years. She’s been living with the Jones’ for almost 5 years, but she still doesn’t feel it’s her place to properly decorate. She’s already imposed on their home, their lives and their fridge. And by default she’s brought Santana into it all as well.

The posters show the years as well. Her thirteen year old self, who first brought feeble memories of the Fabray household in the form of religious portraits and quotes, is now covered by her expressions for All Time Low, Paramore, an uncensored picture of a woman Santana insisted she put up for the hell of it, and a range of other bands unheard of to Mercedes or Santana - at the expense of Schuester.

It’s home.

Quinn mouths the next sentence under her breath hopelessly. Spanish is not her strong point, but she has several paragraphs to translate for homework and as much as she struggles - Quinn is not a quitter.

Santana on the other hand;

The essay her friend is meant to be rounding off for English is scattered at the foot of Quinn’s bed. Even from her place at her desk Quinn can see Santana has hardly added anything to her pages. She envies the relaxed posture Santana has, arms under her head and knees bent, on her bed.

“Q, if you’re looking at me you’re not working.” Santana comments. Another cigarette is trapped between her chapped looking lips. The window is open and the night air sweeps the smoke from the room. Santana usually doesn’t smoke in Quinn’s room, so she can forgive her this once.

“Really?” Quinn grins down at her paper and neatly scribbles out a few more translations. “Kurt keeps telling me you’re a piece of work.”

Quinn smiles seconds later when Santana’s pathetic attempt to toss a pillow at her falls short.

“You can pick that up.”

She watches Santana wiggle onto her side, messing up the bedcovers as much as possible, to reach over the side of the bed for the pillow. The tips of her fingers brush at a corner a few times before she gets a hold on it.

It’s then promptly chucked back at Quinn, knocking the pen out of her hand and to the floor.

“Bitch.” Quinn reclaims her pen and Santana lewdly sticks out her tongue. There’s a deep indenting line across her work now. She frowns. It’ll have to be copied out again.  
“Keep your hand still or you’ll mess up the tape.”

Patchwork medical tape bandages the grazes on Santana’s knuckles. She’d cursed loudly when Quinn had rubbed in the anti-septic cream.

“It’s making me feel better.” Santana mutters as she stubs out her cigarette in the makeshift ashtray on the windowsill.

“By throwing pillows at me?” Quinn raises an eyebrow, she knows it’s more than that really. She just likes getting Santana to explain it herself. The line on her paper taunts her former neat translations. She scrawls the next line out carelessly and leaves the rest.

“Just throwing them in general. Not at you.” Santana flexes her fingers.

Quinn’s pen rests now. She observes Santana pull another cigarette to her lips and fumbles for her lighter. There are frown lines in her face that haven’t fully left her. They irk Quinn.

She stretches out of her seat to stack her books away. The math problems Tina dropped by with are done and the history essay, both hers and Santana’s, are mapped out. Suck that Russian Revolution.

Fights with Puck leave Santana in deep funks. They seem to last longer and get more personal with each new offense. Quinn just wishes Santana didn’t feel the need to seek them out, even subconsciously, whether it was for Quinn’s benefit or not.

And more than often it is for Quinn. It’s how it started in the first place.

“Next time-” Santana starts threateningly. The flame of her lighter illuminates her face in the moonlit room.

“S.”

“Next time I’ll put him down for an extended period of time.”

A drag is taken.

“Finn too.”

Quinn rolls her eyes and tucks her chair under her desk. It’s at the opposite end of her room near the door, whereas Santana and her comfy bed are closest to the window.

She lets Santana vent. Stopping her now would only fuel her fire.

“Maybe with tranquilizers.” She says to Quinn offhandedly. She’s smirking when she looks over at Quinn.

“Where would you even get...?” Quinn doesn’t bother finishing. Santana’s dad is an ex-army medic and an avid fan of the shooting range. Santana would find a way.

Shaking her head Quinn switches off her desk lamp. The room is plunged into further darkness. Quinn hears Santana’s breathing and rustles as she fiddles with the buttons on her jeans. They slide off her legs with ease.

Santana, from the bed, makes an approving noise. Quinn shushes her.

“Whatever Q.”

Quinn knows though that to Santana, in this dark, she’s just a shadow of blue. It doesn’t stop her from feeling the girl’s eyes all over her body though.

The end of Santana’s cigarette glows and the room is hotter. The urge to pluck the thing away from her rises up in Quinn again. She forgoes the search for sleepwear to approach her bed. Her fingers brush Santana’s dry lips and pull the stick out.

Santana exhales a long breath. Quinn can feel the smoke hit her face. She steals a drag clumsily, not accustomed to the art of smoking like Santana, and purses her lips. She tilts her neck back like a howling wolf and lets out the smoke.

Santana is propped on her elbows and close enough to Quinn’s neck to be deemed inappropriate, or appropriate depending on who’s opinion it is.

She glances to Quinn’s bare legs and the state of undress she’s in. Her smile upturns wickedly. Quinn pulls the cigarette from her lips prompting Santana.

“Are we getting a shower?” The cigarette changes hands. Quinn feels something brush against her bare thigh. Quinn’s laugh deepens to a restrained groan.

“In the morning.” She plans. Santana’s eyes twinkle. “If you’re lucky.”

Santana pauses. The cancer stick is ended prematurely and suddenly there’s a hand against Quinn’s cheek. The heat from her palm sends shock waves through her body.

“I’m always lucky.” Santana rolls the words off her tongue seductively.

The frustration of the fight is gone and replaced with a frustration for something else. She attempts to roll her eyes at Santana’s words but the hand on her cheek traces behind her neck and tugs.

There’s no Finn to interrupt.

Santana tastes like smoke and Chinese. Quinn can already hear Mercedes in her head berating her for being too loud again. She bites at Santana’s bottom lip and stops thinking. Hands grip her scalp. Her knees fall over a body. She’s on top.

The kiss is a tumble of passion and horizontal bearings. Santana’s hand is firm on the small of her back, pushing Quinn up and down in a bobbing rhythm. Quinn finds her hips already moving in a way that is so crushingly familiar.

Quinn doesn’t even seem to breathe until Santana’s hand pushes her underwear down over the swell of her ass, leaving them there, to give her enough room. Santana arches her back in time for Quinn to repeat the motion. They are a well practiced machine.

She bucks up erratically and moans against Santana’s hand so much that she loses her own motions.

‘Always lucky’ echoes in her mind until daybreak.

~

 

Something in her head is making a racket. Like the sound of someone knocking repeatedly on a door. It’s ripples up and down her body until the traces of grogginess Quinn usually awakes with is pounded out.

Her eyes flutter and her fingertips tap. She has an arm flung helplessly over Santana’s naked stomach and her lips are inches away from the girl’s shoulder. Her arm rises and falls with Santana’s breathing. The warmth of the body next to her sends a self-gratified glow throughout and begs her to sleep more. Her brain however is awake.

Awake enough to pry herself tentatively away from Santana, who sleeps on, and off her bed.

The racket in Quinn’s head isn’t just in her head anymore. Someone is actually knocking on her door. Less than gracefully Quinn trips into the gym shorts she didn’t get into last night and wraps one of Santana’s old shirts around her chest. The knocking gets more insistent and Quinn hears Santana grumble in her sleep.

She opens the door quickly. Mercedes’ raised hand falls. Quinn is too tired still to be  
amused at how Mercedes’ eyes widen at her state of dress (though she’s seen worse, she has met Santana after all) and simply yawns in response.

“Morning.” She mumbles. Mercedes smirks.

“Good morning, you ready?”

Quinn glances at her friend; she’s already kitted out in full cheerleading regalia. It must be later than usual.

“I’m getting a quick shower.” She replies.

Mercedes nods. “Hey, you and your girl need a ride today?”

Quinn turns her head back into her room. Santana’s unmoving form faces away from her. She’s relaxed in rest and swamped in sheets. The full shape of her back is exposed. It looks like neither of them redressed before falling asleep.

“I can vouch a yes for me but...”

Mercedes follows her eyes and smiles.

“I’m sure she won’t hold it against you.”

“Give me fifteen minutes to get ready.”

Mercedes heads downstairs and Quinn stalks out to the bathroom alone. It’s on mornings like these, when Santana shares her bed and Quinn can find Mercedes waiting for her, that Quinn appreciates how lucky she is. She has someone who loves her, great friends, a roof over her head, a bed to sleep in and hot water.

She is grateful for Mercedes and her family more than they’ll ever know for taking her in when her family kicked her out. If anyone had told her, back when she first met Mercedes in the waiting room of a dentist’s surgery scared stiff in a sun dress, that she was looking at the girl who would offer her a new lease on life; seven year old Quinn Fabray probably would have ran back to her parents.

But seven year old Quinn Fabray had stumbled upon Mercedes in that waiting room and her nerves had been calmed by the talkative girl who’s confidence in her father’s profession eventually transferred to Quinn. There had also been a lollipop in the deal.

The water is warm and cleans away the lingering stickiness between her legs caused by Santana’s late night ministrations. Quinn closes her eyes and smirks to herself about Santana being asleep and therefore not getting the shower she was promised. There will no doubt be words later.

She towels dries her hair and body back in her room and watches Santana sleep. Her school stuff is packed away and Quinn throws on the shirt she used to cover her chest this morning. If Santana isn’t coming in then at least her colour washed ‘Sunnydale High School’ shirt would suffice temporarily.

Quinn kisses Santana’s shoulder lightly before she leaves to find Mercedes. The normally-restless girl doesn’t stir.

Lunches are handed to them on arrival in the kitchen by a smiling Mrs Jones in an apron. Her teeth are blindingly perfect and she looks like the poster-woman for the nuclear family. The non-dysfunctional kind.

“Seat belts.” She warns. Mercedes rolls her eyes at her mom but Quinn nods along. Mrs Jones words of morning wisdom mean a lot, heck everything the Jones family has done for her means a lot.

“Have a nice day Mrs Jones.” Quinn waves.

“You too. I’ll send Santana in around lunch.” Mrs Jones teases with a twinkle in her eye. Quinn blushes and stumbles out after Mercedes.

“Your face is red.” Mercedes points out. Quinn brings her hand to feel her face.

Quinn should be used to it by now. Santana stays over most nights and the Jones’ are well aware of their relationship. Unlike most parents, Quinn discovered on her arrival into the Jones’ household, Mr and Mrs Jones were adamant on their children (social or blood related) being socialized into open and honest relations with them. They’ve known about Quinn and Santana since moving in day. They’re aware of all the boys Mercedes and Kurt have ever dated. And on their entry into high school Quinn, Mercedes, Santana and Kurt (for good measure) sat through an hour long talk regarding safe sex and dental hygiene. So Quinn really shouldn’t be flushing over Mrs Jones’ stating or suggesting anything about her sex life.

Yet it never fails to reduce her to blushing.

Quinn distracts herself by getting into the back seat of a large black SUV. It’s pristinely clean with a neat stack of magazines tucked behind one seat (Vogue has several dog eared pages), a gym bag on the car floor and a brown satchel on the other back seat.

Mercedes clambers into the front passenger seat and passes back her own bags.

Quinn gazes up front at the driver, who distastefully fixes his hair, and looks back at her. He’s changed a lot in years but Quinn always remembers that small boy sitting opposite her in the principle’s office for wearing a corset to school.

“Morning Kurt.” Mercedes buckles herself in and immediately reaches for the radio. Kurt smiles at her and glares back to Quinn.

“Hummel.” Quinn says sweetly. “I didn’t know this ride-to-school-offer involved you.”

A sigh comes from Mercedes mouth.

“Well considering it’s my car Fabray, the package deal does include me.”

The car crackles with an electric stare and the opening chords to Michael Jackson’s ‘Smooth Criminal.’

Kurt goes to add another line before he’s stopped.

“Guys really?” Mercedes looks at them strangely. “I know Coach Sylvester forces us to publicly hate each other and everything. But I doubt she has the ability to hear our tones of friendship from miles away.”

There’s a collective shrug of bashfulness passed around before Kurt starts the engine. For a brief second in the silence Quinn wonders if one day they would have to fear Sue Sylvester being able to hear them across vast distances.

Kurt returns to the conversation as he steers away from the drive.

“Relax ‘Cedes, it’s reflex. Besides Quinn would miss my stare of disgust in the hallway if I didn’t practice it in the mornings.” He finishes with a suppressed chuckle that vibrates in his chest. It’s the kind of laugh that forces everyone to smile nervously.

“Really? That’s what that is?” Quinn monotonously exaggerates. “I thought that’s just how your face looked naturally.”

A beat passes.

“Touche.” Kurt gives.

Mercedes stops humming the chorus to the song to affectionately poke fun at them.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you two.”

Quinn can’t argue with that. She often doesn’t understand her friendship with Kurt too well either. Mercedes’ brought them together after a sleepover that divulged their shared passion for reality TV and make-up, as well as their favoring the same sex. But they were still two different people with personalities that shouldn’t work. He was a cheerleader after all.

That and, as Santana bitterly points out at least once a month, there is a fall of blame on Kurt for some events in her life. Santana’s words not hers.

Kurt catches her eye knowingly and with a trace of regret. His voice doesn’t betray it.

“You’ll never have to.” He promises Mercedes.

“And if you ever do? It’s a sign that the world is coming to an end.” Quinn adds.

“So the state of your friendship will trigger the nuclear warhead Coach Sylvester has hidden under the school?” Mercedes questions half seriously. “Damn, I think you guys need to stop associating.”

“I can only hope.” Quinn giggles.

Their laughter at the thought is short lived as Kurt’s face whitens.

“Sometimes, when Sue yells at me-” Kurt starts. His hands grip the steering wheel.

“Which is a lot.” Mercedes quips.

“I imagine a world in which everything people fear about Sue Sylvester is true.”

They fall silent in the sheer fear of that world.

“Wow.” Quinn whispers. It’s not a happy place.

“There would really be attack dogs in her office.” Mercedes spills.

“Elves would live in people’s hair.” Quinn itches at her neck.

“Madonna actually stole from her.” Kurt ponders.

“Nazi hunting parents.”

“No tear ducts.”

“Angry sex.”

Quinn slaps a hand over her mouth instantly. Kurt jerks his foot on the brake and Mercedes looks at her with disgust.

“Where did you even-? Urgh, don’t.” She shakes. Kurt has one hand over his mouth.

“I’d throw up but I don’t have any breath-mints with me.” He shudders.

The car moves on again and, thankfully, so does the conversation.

“Well,” Mercedes offers. “There’d be no Quinn in that world either. No offense.”

Quinn shrugs.

“That’s a given. Or Santana.”

Kurt scoffs; “Please. I’m sure Coach Sylvester would have more important targets than two delinquent lesbians.”

That’s probably true, Quinn hopes.

“Like who? Olivia Newton John?” Mercedes recalls her coach’s infamous dislike of the Grease star. The rivalry was mostly on Sylvester’s part (there had been an incident at cheerleading competition that Newton John had judged. The Cheerios are forbidden from talking about it).

“Josh Groban.” Kurt lists.

“Jillian Michaels.” Quinn has heard one of Sue’s rants about the reality TV trainer and how inadequate Sue sees her to be.

Kurt nods as he turns another corner.

“Nevermind them though,” Quinn stares ahead. “Would you miss me if Sue got rid of me Kurt?”

“He would. Without you and Santana he’d be the only token gay.” Mercedes chimes.

“I resent that.” He mutters.

“If Quinn was gone then you wouldn’t have a blond chick to dress up either.”

Kurt’s face went red. He resembled a rosy cheeked china doll that used to sit on Quinn’s shelf in her parents house. Quinn finds her own face heat as well over the mention.

“It was one time!” They protest to a smirking Mercedes.

Alcohol and Extreme Makeover shows were not a good combination.

“Or punch out Puckerman.” Mercedes adds.

At that Quinn allows a smile.

“Technically that was Santana.”

“That time. I’ve seen your right hook.” Mercedes jabs the air in front of her, almost hitting Kurt.

“Have you seen Santana’s?” Quinn wiggles her eyebrows and lowers her voice. Mercedes laughs loudly.

A strangled noise emits from Kurt.

“Okay, I don’t need to hear your strange euphemisms for sex in my car. I’ve just had it cleaned.” He stresses, gesturing to the spotless dashboard and seats. There’s a pine air-freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror.

“Let’s just appreciate the structural damage done to Puck’s nose.”

“Didn’t have much of a chance yesterday. Too much blood.”

There’s a lingering satisfaction in the imagery though.

“Well Santana should consider a career in some form of facial reconstruction. She’s managed to make him look more human.” Kurt comments.

Quinn blinks. ‘Is that even possible?’

“More attractive don’t you mean Kurt?” Mercedes announces pointedly. Quinn gasps.

“Mercedes!”

“What? What’s this!?” Quinn stares in amused shock at Kurt’s tense shoulders.

“I have no idea what she’s talking about.” Kurt denies and glares at his best friend from across the seats. Mercedes urges Quinn to question him more.

“I think you do Hummel. Dogging over Puck! I never thought I’d see the day.” Quinn can’t contain her smirk. The cheerleader and the football player. The cliche doesn’t escape anyone. “Or the drop in standards.”

Kurt fumes as he turns into the school’s parking bay.

“Not even the last shred of heterosexuality you possess can deny it Quinn.” He taunts, but there’s a defensive layer in his words, like he wishes he was talking about something else. Quinn gags.

“Not even if he had a mohawk.”

“Looks like he’s all yours Kurt.” Mercedes comments brightly.

“One day...you will both regret this.” His forehead slumps on the steering wheel.

Quinn grabs her bag and jumps out of the car. Her eyes scan for a squad of cheerleaders or their coach. On finding it clear she goes to say goodbye.

Mercedes follows her out of Kurt’s car, still teasing.

“You’ll have to invite us to the wedding!”

Kurt bashes his head.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Quinn catches their eyes and announces her words just loud enough for passing students to hear.

“Later Queerios!”

The crowds of students don’t blink. Or notice the lack of malice in her voice. Mercedes and Kurt nod her away.

“Whatever.” Kurt dismisses. His twitching over Quinn and Mercedes calling him out hasn’t faded.

Quinn slides her phone from her pocket and taps a few keys.

They’re friends, but it’s an opportunity that Quinn isn’t going to miss.

~


	2. Chapter 2

At lunchtime she doesn’t eat with Mercedes and Kurt. Not in the technical sense anyway. They can’t for fear of reprisals by one insane cheerleading coach.

In reality Quinn sits at one end of a table with her lunch in front of her. She absentmindedly eats an apple and leafs through her science notebook while exchanging conversation with Mercedes and Kurt; who occupy the other end of the table, as far away from her as they can possibly look.

“You wouldn’t be as tired if you actually ate something in school.” Quinn mutters and turns a page. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Kurt sniff in disgust at her whisper.

“Are you kidding me?” Kurt directs his words towards Mercedes but Quinn knows it’s in reply to her. “She weighs us hourly. I am not about to drop below that line...”

Mercedes shrugs in response to both of them and picks at her own salad. One day, Quinn vows, she’ll break those Cheerleaders.

Their conversation quiets as various jocks stumble through the tables and past them. Quinn doesn’t glance up for long as she notices Puck storm past Kurt and Mercedes’ end of the table. His nose is taped up and he doesn’t glance as he passes her.

One of the many things that amazes her about ignorance in school is how people really don’t notice what goes on around them unless it directly affects them. No one bats their eyes over Puck’s nose, not that it’s too different as jocks tend to wander around the school in various states of wounded, or that the cheerleaders in their school are all bordering on death because of Sue Sylvester’s terror.

Most of all Quinn likes to laugh at how people don’t notice that Mercedes and Kurt can never find an empty table and are always ‘forced’ to have lunch in the same breathing space as Quinn Fabray.

The horror.

Someone falls into the seat next to her. “Who do you love more, me or my cookies?”

Santana holds out what could possibly be the most delicious looking cookie Quinn has ever seen. It’s a tough question.

“Depends.” Quinn measures the cookie between Santana’s fingers and then takes in the girl’s appearance; a white ribbed tank top that fell short of the waist and temptingly ripped jeans that increased Quinn’s hunger.

“Did the cookie get up on it’s own this morning?”

Santana’s face falls. “Don’t be like that Q.” She waves the cookie in front of her face and Quinn can see Mercedes shaking her head in the background.

“I had to shower alone .” Santana bites her lip evocatively and Quinn prays to whoever that she doesn’t make a remark about asking Mercedes’ mom to join her, or something equally as offensive.

“Oh woe is you. So does most of the single world.” The cookie changes hands quickly at the world ‘single’. Though if the thought had crossed her mind, the look of lust Santana projects as Quinn eats the cookie would make her reconsider.

Watching Quinn eat is one of the strangest turn ons Santana has.

“I could’ve just stayed at home...” Santana leans on the table, her voice rapidly adjusting to it’s usual levels of seduction. “...in your bed...”

Quinn swallows the piece of cookie abruptly. Santana’s thumb brushes against her bottom lip and pulls away with melted chocolate chip. Tingles ignite in her as Santana sucks the chocolate off her thumb and then-

“Guys.”

Quinn remembers she is ‘not’ sitting at a table with other people.

“Just because we’re sitting way over here, that doesn’t mean we’re deaf and blind to your insane level of sexual tension.” Kurt comments flatly and with the hint of a sneer to make it believable to anyone watching them. And with two of Sue’s star Cheerios in the equation - people are watching them.

“It could be worse, it could be repressed sexual tension.” Quinn offers as an apology. Kurt shudders at the thought.

“Chill Hummel.” Santana scoffs before turning back to Quinn. Her words though, are meant to be heard by the boy as well. “Wow Q, you were right. Puckerman does have his panties in a twist.”

Quinn chokes on the biscuit. Mercedes drops her fork and if Kurt hadn’t managed to keep looking straight ahead their ‘not sitting together’ would have been discovered.

“You TOLD her!” Kurt’s outburst doesn’t go unnoticed but Mercedes quickly takes on the role of the offender and rushes their cover.

Santana curls her lip until enough people have subtly turned away. Kurt’s now purple face chances turning to face them. Quinn hides her amusement and shrugs.

“Oh cool it.” Santana pushes her hand to hover over her mouth and flips a ‘V’. “She woulda told me either way-”

Quinn dies a little with Kurt as Santana dirtily pokes her tongue out to signify her meaning. She shivers when Santana’s foot hooks itself around her ankle and slips up her calf. Santana had gotten all of her mocking laughter over via text when Quinn had spilled Kurt’s crush to her that morning.

She did feel a tiny bit sorry for doing so, but what can she do?

“I am so driving off without you today.” Kurt mutters murderously. Even Mercedes is stifling her own round of giggles. Santana wickedly pushes her foot up further until there’s no way Quinn can keep a smile off her face.

Luckily outside forces help to wipe the offending emotion of her face for Kurt’s sake.

“Crap.” Mercedes whispers. She darts her eyes behind Kurt and then subtly to Quinn in warning. “We have contact.”

“Hey babe.” Puck, his patched up nose leading his way to Mercedes and Kurt at their end of the table, greets in a confident voice. “Not-babe.”

Santana scoffs loudly at the furious blush appearing on Kurt’s face at being acknowledged by Puckerman. Quinn kicks her shin swiftly. They don’t need him to-

“Problem Lopez?” Puck spits out. His cheeks flush an angry red that’s more hurt than embarrassment. Quinn swallows the last piece of cookie in her mouth quickly out of reflex. She doesn’t want to choke on crumbs if she has to pull Santana out of the canteen.

Santana kicks her chair backwards against the floor, sitting with her legs stiff and elbow resting on the table. Waiting for anything.

“Not at all Fuckup-erman-” Quinn rolls her eyes at Santana. Really? “-except your mangled face is putting me off my lunch.”

Santana’s hand clenches and Quinn can see yesterday replay in the girl’s mind. The sickening blow to Puck’s nose echoes around them all in silence. A wet crack that threatens to play once more.

Puck’s back straightens as one of his lackeys flanks him from behind. Quinn narrows her eyes at David Karofsky trying to conceal something behind Puck’s back.

Santana’s cocky stance irritates Puck and his next phrase sends a murmur of silence around the cafeteria.

“Your homeless girlfriend is putting me off-” Puck rages.

Kurt shoots to his feet as Puck lays into Quinn’s insecurity. Mercedes gapes in shock. “Noah! How about we just go back to your table-?”

Quinn feels like he’s just punched her in the stomach. She wishes he had.

Puck’s hand comes to press down on Kurt’s shoulder, forcing him back into his seat, he wears a triumphant grin. One that appears when he believes he can win something.

Santana’s lack of response to Puck’s words frighten Quinn.

“How about Ellen and Portia move it.” Puck sneers down the table to them. He shuffles around Mercedes to the opposite side of the table. Facing Quinn and Santana. Karofsky follows. “Or are they sitting here to satisfy their kink for cheerleaders?”

Her legs jolt as if someone had swept the chair from underneath her as Santana kicks her own chair back into the table behind them. Yells of surprise meet the clanging sound.

“Step up Noah-” Santana fires, her elbows bent and fists clenched, to a momentarily startled Puck. “I’m sure Hummel will be happy to satisfy your deprived sexual needs for being topped.”

“Santana!” Quinn finds her feet while Puck’s face pales. Kurt yelps from the sidelines helpless to the implications of Santana’s careless remark and to the hundreds of students who’ve just heard it.

Karofsky stands strong in Puck’s floundering. “And yet he’s more of a woman than your girl is Lop-”

Quinn knows that Santana cannot get into another fight. If one report gets back to Figgins or heaven forbid Sylvester about Santana throwing a punch or leaping over tables then she’s out. And Quinn can’t carry them both out of Lima.

“Quinn!”

So Quinn throws the first punch.

Her knees bash painfully against the table as Quinn launches her body across the air and into Puck’s personal space. She swings, he ducks and her fist clips the side of Karofsky’s ear.

There’s a scream from the other end of the table, it’s a girlish shriek that can only be from Kurt, as Quinn sees red. Hands grab her waist, Puck rises from his surprised place on the floor and Karofsky’s face morphs from shock to a new level of pissed embarrassment.

Quinn feels Santana smirking into her neck at he worst possible time and then Karofsky’s arm comes from behind Puck and all she sees is a mass of blue ice coming toward her face.

They crumble to the other side of the table as the slushie slaps her in between the eyes. Quinn hisses at the stinging ice colliding with her skin.

The sudden pain doesn’t block out the rousing of scattered laughter from those who feel safe enough in their social situations to laugh.

Hands come up to her face and wipe away the most of the damage. Quinn chances opening her eyes while still under crystal siege to see Tina looking concerned and Santana flinging blue ice from her black hair.

Quinn’s Counting Crows shirt is ruined.

Puck’s nervous smile grows stronger the longer Karofsky continues to bawl out laughter without Santana stuffing the slushie cup down his throat. Quinn reaches out for Santana’s hand to hold her next to her.

No teachers rush to their aide or attempt to stop the jocks stumble away with the respect of the rest of the school in their back pocket. Quinn shakes under the attention of Tina and Santana.

Dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt she makes out Kurt, still standing red faced, looking towards them. She wills herself to wear an apologetic expression for Santana dragging him into this. Mercedes can’t move from her seat.

They still have roles to play.

“Fuck. Those.” Santana growls. “Assholes.”

“T-t-they won’t get away-” Tina stutters out gathering ice from Quinn’s hair. The blue drink drenches Quinn’s entire face, she’s cold, but the humiliation of what’s passed doesn’t leave her with Puck’s retreating back.

Quinn lets go of Santana’s hand abruptly as Puck and Karofsky turn to assess their damage, taunting them as they reach their table, and decides she needs to prove a well known point.

Santana, to her impeccable credit, doesn’t even protest as Quinn takes hold of the bottom of Santana’s shirt and pulls it off her body.

The slushie stained her shirt, but left blue tinges to Santana’s skin that glisten under the lights in the canteen. Quinn licks her lips at the sight and subconsciously moves in to place her hands against Santana’s toned stomach and kiss her girlfriend’s sticky sweet lips.

A roar of approval awakens from the student body and Quinn pulls away with a satisfied smirk to see Puck trip over a misplaced seat and fall right onto his broken face.

Tina claps, giggling, next to them and Mercedes rolls her eyes while attempting to shield Kurt’s eyes.

All eyes are on them and Santana bores hotly into Quinn. “I’m all sticky.”

Quinn licks her lips to taste the remains of Karofsky’s attack on her tongue. “C’mon, they have showers in the locker rooms.”

Santana grins and tucks her blue-stained shirt into the back of her jeans, tugging Quinn out of the cafeteria to the wolf-whistle cheers of the people left behind.

Victory.

~

 

Quinn is jotting down the last words to Santana’s essay when the bedroom door closes. A waft of soap and coolness reaches her before the kiss Santana presses to her neck does.

The essay is finished and Santana’s arms wind around her. Wet strands of her hair hit the sides of Quinn’s face when Santana moves to kiss the top of her head. She’s being awfully affectionate.

Quinn pauses and lowers her eyes in rest while Santana reads, with mild interest, what she’ll be handing in to Mrs Schuester tomorrow. Though how Schuester’s wife managed to become a teacher still escapes both of them.

It’s as close to domesticity as the can get without having an actual house of their own or a wedding ring. The two of them cohabiting, in sync, with a room; a bed. With love. It’s so permanent, and has been for so long, that Quinn still fears sometimes that it’s a dream. She fears a day in the future when it will all float away from her or she’ll wake from a deep sleep and still be living with her parents.

She fears a life without Santana. It’s one of the main reasons she willingly fled from her parents house, from her family, because they couldn’t accept what she felt for Santana. How she still feels.

There are days it bothers her.

Such as having to say no when Mercedes’ parents ask if she wants to go with them to their church, or when they invite extended family around. Cousins and Aunts and Grandparents that come to see them at the holidays. They’ve grown to welcome her as their own, as if she were Mercedes’ sister, but she still feels left out.

And then there are days, filled with moments and euphoria, when Quinn doesn’t miss her parents. Days that see her catch Santana watching her with warm eyes or when Tina and Artie invite them out to dinner (which makes her feel more married to Santana than it should). Nights spread under a warm body and filled with pleasures she doesn’t have to feel guilty about. And Sundays.

“What are you thinking about?”

She’s not at her desk anymore. Santana is wrapped neatly in a towel that’s indecently falling off her. Her glasses are folded on the windowsill. Quinn is perched in her lap on the bed with her fingers tangled in Santana’s hair. How did she get there?

Quinn can’t even remember moving. Her wide eyes gaze a little helplessly at Santana, who’s expression switches in softness and hardness. Quinn can see how Santana wants to comfort her, but knows what she’s thinking too well to know it won’t really work.

“We’re perfect Q.” Santana kisses her fingertips. “We don’t need anything but you and me.”

Certainty fills Santana’s voice so entirely that Quinn believes and pushes away her insecurity. Santana gives her a moment before she cups Quinn’s face to hers. It’s a reassuring kiss.

“Me and you.” Quinn whispers.

“We’ll get out of here.” Santana’s eyes bore into hers. They’re so close, noses touching and Quinn wants to lose herself in Santana tonight. To feel like one person instead of two. “Just you and me.”

Quinn sneaks a hand underneath the towel to touch skin. Santana doesn’t gasp because it’s not the intimacy they’re searching for, it’s just the contact. Quinn skims near the brunette’s breast before Santana lowers Quinn down to the pillow and lays beside her. The towel is rendered useless. Drops of water still bead her tan skin and Quinn marvels at Santana like she does to everything she deems sublime.

And they wonder the sublime into slumber.

~

 

Seventh grade was the pivotal year for most of the things in Quinn’s life. It brought her highs, lows and threads for her to hang on until she was able to grasp onto one or the other.

It brought Schuester’s into her life. It saw the passing of acquaintances into friends and confidantes. Although she didn’t know it at the time it also brought her closer to the person she’d soon be living with.

And it helped her open her eyes to what she couldn’t see before.

The empty bottle of cola spins points decidedly in the middle of the group of friends. It’s cola because there’s no way even laid back, boy band Schuester would let them get away with underage drinking.

Quinn’s eyes flit up to Tina with a raise eyebrow. “No.”

Tina, unlike other people in the circle, breathes a sigh of relief. The fiery brunette to her far left however doesn’t.

“Not again Quinn.” Rachel bashes her head against the wall of the booth they’ve taken over for their sugar-rushed game of ‘spin the bottle’. “Backing out on kissing Tina is against the rules-”

Santana, who is curled against Tina’s lap sharing a cigarette with the goth girl, snorts and catches Quinn’s eyes. Smoking is a recent habit that’s weeded it’s way into Santana’s daily life. It’s relaxing, Santana argued. Quinn just thinks she wants to look bad-ass.

Quinn tears her gaze back to Rachel’s frustrated words. Then Tina again. Then Santana’s lazy pursing of her lips against the cigarette.

It’s not that she doesn’t want to kiss Tina-

“Not if partners of the respected parties object to the kissing.” Artie, who’s slumped against a wall like Rachel and not in his wheelchair, pipes up. He smiles at Tina who takes the cigarette from Santana.

Rachel frowns and searches the room. “Loosen your braces Artie-”

“I’d rather we didn’t?” Tina interrupts handing Santana back her cigarette after a short drag. She waves her hands with a little more confidence at Quinn. “No offense Quinn, you’re gorgeous.”

“None taken.” Santana smirks at the little blush that flares over Quinn. It’s not her fault, compliments get her hot and bothered.

Mercedes sighs loudly to the right of Quinn. Kurt hums as he rests his head on her shoulder. “We have one objection.” She counts for the benefit of the room.

Everyone seems to be soothed by the mellow atmosphere. The smoke hanging above them doesn’t deter them from staying locked in the middle music booth and their quiet disagreements don’t attract the attention of Schuester or his new shop assistant, Finn.

“We lack a second objection.” Rachel smirks deeply and closes her eyes. Quinn feels hot all over when Santana’s foot taps against her knee. “Quinn is single. Unless she’s only saying that to save my poor unrequited feelings?”

Rachel bats her black mascara eyelashes at Quinn. There’s a joking affection there which Quinn catches a second later than everyone else. She knows Rachel is hopelessly devoted to her strangely effeminate boyfriend, Jesse.

“Nice try Rachel.” Quinn teases back.

“Can we carry on with this? I’ll vouch Quinn’s objection if she can spin for another turn.” Kurt protests lifting his head off Mercedes’ shoulder in annoyance.

Rachel frowns in his direction. They butt heads a lot. “Gay beards don’t count. Sorry Kurt.”

“Urgh.” Santana’s hand slaps the floor in front of Tina’s legs. “Would you quit yammering on Berry? I’ve got a headache the size of your-”

“Santana can vouch.” Quinn spits out to avoid Santana’s depreciation of Rachel’s nose. Santana releases the smoke from her mouth and tweaks her expression to one of mild amusement.

Rachel, for once, shares this emotion.

“She can?” Tina questions confused. This mirrors on the faces around her.

“I can?” Santana bites her tongue to stop herself from giggling.

Rachel however repeats the phrase with utmost certainty that Quinn almost believes it herself. “She can. Well duh, I totally forgot.”

‘Forgot what?’ Quinn mentally asks.

“Stop patronizing her Berry or I’ll throw your vinyl collection out of the window.” Santana’s head falls back against Tina’s leg, seemingly done with her confrontation. Tina takes Santana’s cigarette and stubs it out against the bottle in the middle of the booth.

Artie takes her hand.

Rachel watches Quinn with a studious eye. “Will do, it’s just-”

“Can we please -” Kurt raises again.

A pinch twitches Quinn to life. “Kurt you can make out with Artie later-” She whirls to face Rachel’s delirious looking face. “- ‘just’ what Rachel?”

Rachel lifts herself on her hands and shuffles her body against the wall until she’s closer to Quinn. She can see Santana watching her carefully and stiffens. Rachel’s never really figured out the concept of personal space and Quinn is usually the one left to deal with hands in places they shouldn’t be.

“It’s cute-” She states. Quinn can hear Artie and Tina exchanging words in the background. Kurt isn’t sighing and Mercedes is slowly drifting in and out of sleep. It’s only Santana watching them with focused interest. “- how close you both are.”

Something shivers in Quinn. “What?”

Santana growls and kicks her foot against Quinn in place of kicking Rachel. “Berry get a life or get out of mine.” She pauses. “Better yet, do both.”

Rachel rolls her eyes.

“S,” Quinn warns but avoids placing a hand on Santana’s restless foot. Rachel notices. Louder objections have caught the attention of the other members of their gathering once more. “Of course we’re close.”

Rachel bumps their shoulders together just to see Santana twitch. Quinn lowers her eyes. “Santana’s my girl. Word.” She adds for good measure.

Artie throws a hand up in support. “Preach. Tina’s my girl.”

Heat retreats from Quinn as the attention diverts. Kurt puts his own hand up to wave back and forth in the air. “Proud to be Mercedes’ boy.”

Mercedes looks thrilled.

Santana finally props herself off Tina’s lap as she moves to cuddle against Artie. She winds up moving until her crossed legs brush against Quinn’s thigh. It’s the closest they’ve been all night.

“And you-” She points to Rachel. “Are Jesse’s girl.”

“Do not sing it.” Kurt warns.

Tina turns from bestowing love to Artie to interrupt. “What’s with the full circle?”

Quinn’s thigh burns in a bubbled discomfort in closeness. It doesn’t stop Rachel’s easy dismissal back into the game from leaving a profound effect on her.

“Nothing.” Her words are warm and Quinn feels them against the side of her neck. Once more, Rachel Berry: oblivious to personal space.

Quinn knows she’ll always remember the sly smirk flickering on Rachel’s face as she said that. Mostly because it’s one of the last conversations they have before Rachel’s band kicks off and the pint-sized lead hitchhikes to New York to make it underground.

They’ll still talk every now and then, when Rachel gets to a phone, and it’s enough for Quinn to know that Jesse is keeping her alive out there.

But the smirk and the words stay with her. Imprinting on the brain throughout the rest of the night and the remainder of the game, which does end in Kurt kissing Artie to Tina’s amusement.

~

 

Quinn doesn’t need to see outside the window to know that it’s late. Schuester peers in on them with goodbyes tossed over his shoulder. Quinn hears Artie call out to them as he and Tina take their leave from Schuester’s. Just like they should. Just like they would if Santana moved from her place on the floor of the booth.

The bottle they’ve been using is decorated with burnt circles from the cigarettes smoked during the night.

Quinn kneels near Santana’s stomach. Neither of them make a move to go.

“Hey girls-” Schuester leans against the frame of the door. “You doing okay?”

Quinn likes Schuester. He’s probably one of the only adults that treat them as equals, or near enough. Even as he stands looking down on them from the doorway there’s no hidden agenda or prompting in his question. In the back of her mind Quinn thinks that they could completely ignore him and he wouldn’t bat an eye.

Plus he’s probably the coolest adult ever, strange grudge against Britney Spears or not, just because of his job.

“We’re okay Mr Schue-” Quinn replies with a smile she can’t make too bright. “Just a little tired from all the talking.”

She’s holding onto the goodness spreading in her chest from being surrounded by her friends all night and the buzz in her fingertips about her sides.

“Well I’m closing up right about now-” He hangs his sentence mid way. “-you look like you could use a night.”

Quinn glances down to Santana’s pensive face. She stares past Schuester and into the background of the shop. Her mind is in the beyond and Quinn needs to pull her back for a while.

“There are some blankets under the bench.” Schuester offers gently without asking them a single thing. “I’ll lock you in.”

Quinn’s appreciation for him soars. Screw Britney Spears. “Thanks Mr Schue.”

He smiles and pushes the door further open. “There’s food in the fridge behind the counter. If you’re going to mess with the music make sure you put everything back in place.”

Quinn nods obediently. He puts his hands in his pockets, fishing for keys.

“I don’t want any angry calls from your parents or anything, so call to cover yourselves.”

“Got it.” Quinn affirms. Santana shifts beside her. Closer.

He takes a step back and brings out his keys. They jingle with key rings with names and logos. “Alright, play nice girls. Goodnight.”

“Night Mr Schue.” Quinn replies with fondness. The owner swings his step back and retreats. Quinn listens out for the pushing of buttons and opening of doors.

Santana rolls onto her back when the sound of the main door closing reaches them. Quinn attentively waits until a distant lock clicks before she moves.

Her hands reach for the blankets Schuester pointed out. They’re new and smell like washing powder.

There’s no real light to illuminate them anymore. Santana’s limited motions resort to wielding her lighter to burn the end of a new cigarette. The blankets will no doubt smell like smoke in the morning.

Quinn spreads one blanket out and folds it into a long but padded pillow. The second blanket, she unfolds and places over her lap. The other half of it is for Santana to pull over her when she’s finished smoking. Quinn is not dealing with explaining to Schuester how they burned down his shop.

Santana, from the tiny light of her lighter, looks absorbed in Quinn’s organizing of the blankets. She doesn’t comment on anything.

“You’re quiet.” Quinn finds herself whispering despite there being no one else to overhear her. Only the darkness and the humming of a fridge behind the counter.

Santana exhales loudly in contrast. “I’ve been quiet all night.”

Her counter attack doesn’t faze Quinn. She taps Santana’s ankle with her own. “You’ve been whispering to Tina all night in between shouting at Rachel. That’s not quiet.”

Quinn slides onto her back with a relaxed groan. “That’s a smoking thing for you.”

“You don’t mind?” It’s the first time she’s sounded unsure about her new habit, ever since she announced to Quinn that she was starting it with Tina.

Quinn’s shrug makes contact with a part of Santana. “Anything bad happens to you I’ll be there to say I told you so.”

“I hope so.” Santana pokes Quinn in the ribs.

“Now tell me what’s up.” Quinn returns to her original intent. “Kurt piss you off? Rachel? Finn?”

They’ve only been introduced to the lanky bulk of limbs once and Santana doesn’t like him. Quinn has yet to form an opinion.

“No, nope. And yes, but I’m always pissed at Finn.” Santana sneers and the tip of her cigarette burns brighter. She takes a drag.

Quinn frowns, turning on her side with concern. “I can cancel on hanging out with Kurt tomorrow if you want.”

She can feel the tension emitting from Santana like a dim beacon. “Shit Q, it’s not about your barbie night with Hummel.”

Not that Santana was thrilled when she heard about it in the first place.

Quinn may have planned it for weeks in advance with extra care because she needs to talk to Kurt about a few things. Which are too risky to repeat too much under the roof of her house.

It’s mostly about feelings, which Santana wouldn’t want to sit in on in the first place, but Quinn has thoughts still prompting and poking to remind her that it’s so much more than inviting Kurt - gay gay Kurt - around to wander the same halls as her father and hide in her room to paint each other’s nails.

Santana exhales again.

‘No.’ Quinn closes her eyes tiredly. ‘It’s more than that.’

Silently she feels Santana swiftly roll on her side to face her. In the darkness Quinn is only able to see the vague outline of Santana’s face until her eyes begin to adjust.

“S?” She ventures. She doesn’t want to push but-

“We’re not cute.”

Quinn blinks, her eyes water from the smoke crawling around her, and blanches. “What?”

Santana coughs abruptly. “I said ’We’re not cute’.”

Without light it’s hard for Quinn to judge Santana’s expression but she can’t help the small explosion of laughter that bursts from her. All of the quiet over something so-

“Is that what your mood is over?” Quinn asks grinning stupidly. “You’re in a mood because Rachel called you cute?”

She can see Santana’s face clearer now. She’s frowning. At first Quinn sees embarrassment in the deep eyes of her friend. At a closer glance she can’t find a shared amusement, only seriousness.

“Us.”

Rachel passes through her mind. She did say ‘both’.

Quinn holds her breath without realizing. “Us.” The repetition changes something in the air. Santana grasps out for the empty bottle and a sizzle signals the end to another cigarette.

“We’re not-” Santana breathes out with effort. Quinn is motionless, Santana’s words are like fast moving cars around her and she’s trapped between the lines of a road.

Her blanket is pinned around her legs with Santana rolling slowly over her. Knees press down on the blanket rendering her legs useless.

Not that Quinn finds herself wanting to move. She hasn’t been wrapped in Santana’s arms since leaving school in the afternoon. Weeks of having Santana throwing an arm around her shoulders as they flee the gates have left her hungry and wanting the contact. She’ll take what Santana gives her.

This closeness is charged in a way Quinn thinks she’s felt once before. In a distant memory, or a dream.

Smoke weighs down on them heavily, pushing Santana down onto her, certainly makes it dream like.

Quinn gasps when fingers touch her cheek. She’s burning up.

All of this weight feels so new yet comfortable. A part of her feels as if something is finally coming home. She’s finally unwrapping a package she’s had for years. A secret that’s finally being shared with her.

“Us.” Quinn whispers, mostly to herself, as Santana’s lips brush tenderly against her own.

They kiss.

Suddenly there was an ‘us’.

~

 

A crowded kitchen greets Quinn in the morning. Her hair is in disarray and her sleep shirt hangs off one shoulder. Kurt eyes her in distaste.

Mercedes acknowledges her with a quick look before turning back to listen to her mother. Mrs Jones has a bag on the table and every few seconds she zips and unzips it to check its contents. Quinn’s ears begin to work and she tunes into the conversation.

“...so I’m going with your dad to make sure he doesn’t ditch the mandatory talks in favor of lunch or something.” Mercedes chuckles a little to Kurt who smiles weakly and raises a glass of water to his mouth again.

Quinn turns her nose up at his choice in breakfast drink and heads for the fruit loops. “What’s going on?” She asks. The sleep in her voice makes her sound husky.

Mercedes answers for her. “Dental conference in Vegas.”

Mrs Jones shakes her head obviously wondering why they chose Las Vegas of all places to hold such an event. “We’ll be out of town this week.”

Quinn stops pouring her cereal. “Oh.”

Her stomach flops slightly. There are two reasons why; one because she’s going to miss having Mrs Jones around and two because no doubt there will be some drama during the week that will make her wish they hadn’t gone.

Kurt and Mercedes watch in fond amusement as Mrs Jones rounds the table to run her fingers through Quinn’s hair. Combing it into a presentable state. “Don’t worry Quinn, I’m putting you in charge.”

“Momma!” Mercedes playfully chimes from her seat next to Kurt. Quinn wiggles her eyebrows behind Mrs Jones back in response.

“What?” Mrs Jones smirks. “Do you want anything more to drink Kurt? Did you eat breakfast?”

Now it’s Quinn’s turn to smirk at the forced calm that comes over Kurt’s face. “No thank you Mrs Jones. Coach Sy-”

“-vester. Seriously. That woman.” Mercedes’ mother stands taller and crosses her arms. Quinn feels lucky that the closest parental figure she has in her life, other than Schuester, shares her dislike of the Cheerios. And their coach.

Mercedes keeps quiet and pokes at the fruit on her plate.

“Preach!” Quinn agrees and makes sure to loudly pour more of her cereal into her bowl.

Mrs Jones rolls her eyes and pats Quinn on the shoulder before taking her bag and leaving the kitchen. Both Quinn and Mercedes follow her with their eyes until they hear the sounds of a yelled ‘see you later!’ and the closing of the door. The flights for the conference didn’t leave until the evening.

“Speaking of Cheerios...” Kurt prompts. Quinn splashes milk into her bowl and eyes Mercedes curiously.

“You are coming to the rally after school today aren’t you?” Mercedes directs the question to her. Quinn has to swallow a mouth full of fruit loops, which makes her feel slightly ironic for some reason, before answering.

“Rally?”

“For football.”

Quinn’s spoon slips back into her bowl. “For football or for the cheerleaders?”

It’s a valid question. The McKinley High Titans haven’t won a game in at least three seasons. No one really wants to have to cheer for a losing team.

“The cheerleaders, naturally.” Kurt laughs to himself and brushes imaginary lint off his shoulders. His regulation uniform is spotless and Kurt does look impeccable in it.

Mercedes continues; “Miss Sylvester has asked scouts from colleges to come and do some initial assessing for their squads. Then at nationals-”

“If you get to nationals-” Quinn interrupts.

“When we get there.” Kurt backs up.

“-then they’ll have already picked out a few potentials to look out for during competition.”

The fruit loops have gone soggy in her bowl. Quinn stirs her milk around, losing her appetite but not willing to leave the food in the face of the two people that are on strict cheerleading diets.

“If I’d known there was so much scholarship potential in cheerleading...I probably still wouldn’t have joined.” Quinn teased.

“-’ats my girl.” Santana stumbles through the kitchen door looking happy. Or in her case neutral because full on smiles were reserved for Quinn.

Kurt turns his eyes away from Santana as she enters. Obviously remembering what was said in the cafeteria yesterday.

“Morning.” Quinn greets. The warmth in her voice seems to magnify in the face of her girlfriend. Santana moves in close enough for Quinn to feel the heat of her skin.

Kurt and Mercedes politely ignore the softness with which Quinn kisses Santana good morning.

“Some of us did join though.” Mercedes reminds them.

Santana takes the breakfast bowl out of Quinn’s hands and begins to finish the remains of the fruit loops. “No offense Aretha, Boy George-” The nicknames cause eye-rolls all around. “-but I’d rather see Q join Glee Club than be out cheering and showing her ‘spirit’-” (Santana air quotes to her amusement) “-for boys.”

Quinn scoffs. A motion shared by Kurt and Mercedes because Glee Club? Really? That was a social suicide no one wanted to commit.

Kurt clears his throat. “Speaking of boys-”

Santana smirks.

“-David Karofsky wishes for me to pass along a message to you Santana.”

Quinn awaits the next words.

“Really?” Santana places the now empty bowl on the side of the table. Twitches run up her arms.

“I’m here to translate his almost ineligible text message to me that expressed his deepest desire for you to not break his nose out of revenge for the slushie mishap yesterday.” Kurt licks his lips in a taunting way. Even though he’s a mutual friend of Santana, Quinn acknowledges the slight competitive aspect to their relationship.

“-he likes his nose the way it is.”

Santana tuts without care. “Sucks for him because-”

“S.” Quinn’s fingers brush along the girl’s inner wrist. She turns to Kurt. “What’s with his sudden change of heart? Santana stripping off give him feelings?”

“Nightmares of her revenge I assume.” Kurt informs.

“Excellent.” Santana is thrilled.

Mercedes sighs jokingly. “Heaven help the world that gives you that Communications degree.”

“Fuel to the fire baby.” Santana grins over at Quinn. She can’t help the tingle that runs through her body at the expression.

“Funny. Seeing as how you can barely communicate with people now.” Kurt comments off-handedly.

Santana shrugs. “Did you see my excellent communication yesterday? With Puck?”

Sometimes Quinn wonders to herself about Santana’s degree choice. Whether it’s tactical or just Santana’s morbid fascination with being ironic half the time.

“Pre or Post-Slushie?” Quinn laughs. Santana lets her but makes sure that Quinn sees the way she licks her lips slowly at the mention of the slushie. And how they cleaned up in the locker rooms yesterday.

“I fear for the people of Chicago.” Kurt says mostly to himself.

Like a sudden rain, depression sets in over Quinn at the mention of their hopeful-future-city.

“We’ve got to get in there first.” She says.

~

 

The ringing of the college talk plays in Quinn’s mind for the entire day. As much as she can’t wait to get out of Lima, she hates actually talking about getting into college. Talking about it opens her up, and in that opening all the fear of not making it is allowed in.

“...repeat after me-” Mrs Schuester, also known as Terri Schuester, dictates from the front of the class. Quinn flinches as she comes back into focus of the lesson.

It’s too easy to doze in and out of daydreams and thoughts when she hates the lesson she’s in. Even more so if that lesson is Spanish.

Despite having a girlfriend who’s fluent in it and likes to murmur dangerously seductive things, that she can’t really decipher, in her ear - Quinn Fabray sucks at Spanish.

The class around her drones back the phrases that they’ve just been instructed. Quinn opens and closes her mouth at the right time to not draw attention to herself. The last thing she needs is Schuester’s wife complaining to him at home, which leads to him telling her when she stops by the shop.

He’s not even a teacher yet he’s able to instill that look of disappointment so well.

‘That’s a thought.’ Quinn ponders. ‘I’d rather he taught me.’

Entertaining the thought of Will Schuester teaching Spanish gets her through the next five minutes of class without struggle. Her notes are untidy scrawls that she’ll copy up later and get Santana to verify.

The novelty wears off and Quinn sighs in her seat.

‘What’s another year of Spanish? I said.’ Quinn mocks her decision. ‘It’ll look great on applications!’

And college applications were the only thing that really mattered coming up to the end of senior year. That, and exams.

She’s had this debate with herself so many times, whilst sitting in Spanish class. Having a language requirement filled pushes up her chance of being accepted into her degree course.

‘Human Development and Psychological Services.’ Quinn repeats in her mind like a calming chant. Quinn wants that course. She wants that degree. If it takes barely passing Spanish to do it then so be it.

With a renewed vigor Quinn sits up straighter and forces her eyes to the front of the class. A cold dread is poured over her as she realizes that all eyes are on her. Mrs Schuester frowns from her place at the front of the room.

“Quinn Fabray.” Her voice is shrill and dainty and Quinn can see her life flashing before her eyes. “As much as I often choose to ignore how you’re still in this class after the last three tests for your sake, when your property decides to disrupt the lesson I have to draw the line.”

“Proper-” Quinn mutters aloud in confusion following the pointed finger of her teacher that extends to the door. “-ty.”

Quinn flies through emotions as she spots Santana pulling faces at her Spanish teacher and waving to her. There’s five minutes of the lesson yet to go.

And then the venom present in Mrs Schuester’s words becomes more pronounced in her mind. ‘Property.’ Santana isn’t her pet.

“She’s not my property.” Quinn has to tone down the growl in her voice. Students around her fight back smirks directed both at Quinn’s tone and at Schuester’s annoyance.

Mrs Schuester tilts her head in a ‘That’s nice, bitch’-gesture that makes Quinn tighten the grip on her pen. From her oblivious place outside the door Santana flips her teacher off.

It takes a full thirty seconds for Mrs Schuester to find her last completed Spanish quiz and tell her, surprisingly without resorting to cursing, to kindly get out of the room.

Quinn snatches her C- before anyone can make a comment and pulls the door open with force. It slams behind her and an invisible impact does nothing to calm her.

Luckily she has Santana for that.

“Your so fuckable when you storm out of class.” Santana remarks and stealthily makes a grab for her test. Quinn’s stomach sinks as Santana picks apart her questions.

She can predict how this will turn out. Santana’s dipping eyebrows and muttering under her breath will lead to her wrapping a protective arm around her shoulder and steering her into the nearest classroom. This will be swiftly followed by ‘I’m-sorry-your-Spanish-teacher-is-such-an- uptight-bitch’ kisses and ‘Let-me-make-you-feel-better’ groping.

Except that first sign never appears across Santana’s forehead. Quinn worries.

“What have you done?”

Santana bites her lip and hands back her test. “Nothing that won’t solve all of your pain today, which by the way-” Santana points to one of the questions Quinn managed to pass with a correct answer. “-I think she’s under-marked you.”

It wouldn’t be the first time. “Gee, I wonder why.”

The tone of distaste disappears from her mouth when Santana grabs onto the belt loops of her jeans smiling. Quinn reminds herself to break out a dress tomorrow.

“Because she’s jealous that you spend more time with her husband than she does?” Santana bats out. Smug grins are shared.

“Or is it because you have a smoking hot girlfriend that would do absolutely anything for you?” Santana pushes Quinn back into the nearest wall of lockers. Her breath hitches in her throat as Santana presses their bodies together. Quinn is sure that the empty hallway carries her whimper of approval into the ongoing classes.

“Anything?” Quinn prompts. Santana considers the statement.

“Except anal.”

“Santana!” Quinn’s hands shoot to cover Santana’s mouth to no avail. In the midst of flailing limbs Santana twirls Quinn around to push her face-first into the lockers. “S! Stop it!”

Hands grab at her waist and Quinn’s book-bag falls to the floor. Santana presses against her back and playfully thrusts her hips into Quinn’s ass.

“Unless you take it Q.”

Quinn flushes a violent red as the class bell rings. “S- off now!”

“No!” Santana doesn’t budge and Quinn’s eyes widen as her girl pushes into her behind more deliberately. “Say you’ll take it.”

“S-” There’s a mass sound of shuffling chairs and chatter in classroom. “Oh crap-”

Santana kisses her neck like they’ve got all the time in the world. Quinn knows they haven’t.

“Alright, alright!” Quinn can see the first steps of students making their break for freedom out of classrooms. The first thing they’ll see is Santana’s hips rocking into her ass. It’s the last thing she wants to share with the world. “I’ll take-!”

The door to Spanish flies open and Quinn dizzily registers Santana pulling her away from the lockers into a more innocent looking position. Quinn steadies herself in the stable arms of her girlfriend and tries to breathe away the red blush on her cheeks.

Her eyes catch Santana leering down on her like the last minute save was apart of her plan all along. Quinn mentally notes that she’ll bring this up the next time Santana feels like groping her in public.

Their hallway affection doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Get a room queers!” Quinn hears as Azimo pushes his way behind her to continue down the hall. It’s lucky he did as Santana attempts to lunge over her to get at him.

“No, no S!” Quinn latches on quickly to Santana’s waist and becomes a dead weight.   
She almost releases her when Azimo glances back at them in triumph. She decides to play it tactical. “He’s just acknowledging that we get laid more than him!”

The entire hallway seems to stumble over her raised words. Azimo fumbles his next steps and crushes some poor unsuspecting freshman into the wall.

“Yeah that’s right!” Quinn raises her arms in defiance to the people still staring at them in wonder. Give them what they want - Sex. “Daily, jockstrap, freaking daily.”

Santana emphasizes Quinn’s declaration by cupping her cheek suggestively. It’s a simple touch that sends fire down her body. Forgotten is the Spanish mark and the remarks made. Santana is all that exists to her.

And then someone coughs loudly before Santana can hypnotize her completely with a kiss.

Quinn ignores her blazing embarrassment at Santana managing to engage her in such a private moment in such a public setting. (It’s not the first time but this is the most witnesses they’ve had.)

“Can we go?” Quinn utters quietly to Santana. Her previous confidence has left her body. A nod and Santana moving to pick up her bag is all the answer she gets before Santana is telling everyone to move out of their way.

“Perverts.” It ends with as they burst out of an exit. Quinn lets the cool air wash over her face and trusts Santana to guide her.

“That was-” Quinn begins. She doesn’t even know how to describe that. Grateful comes to mind, that she wasn’t still miming anal when everyone rushed out.

“-the future of America. Pray for us all Q.” Santana rolls her eyes. Her arm once more is flung over her shoulders. The familiar weight allows Quinn to push the incident out of her mind for now.

In doing so she remembers directly before it. “Hey, what did you mean before?”

“Before?” Santana blanks. “All I remember is lockers.”

“No, before that.” Quinn loops her arm around Santana’s waist. “When you said you’d do anything for me?”

Something pinches in Quinn’s heart.

“Oh that!” Santana’s face glows with something akin to pride.

“What?” Quinn warily asks. Santana shakes her head like she’s hiding something.

“Nothing nothing. Just, we have to go to support your life-partner friends.” Santana informs her.

“Kurt and Mercedes? You hate pep rallies. And football.” Quinn pauses. “And Cheerleading.”

“I know.” Santana agrees.

“And all of that will be there tonight.” Quinn wants to make sure Santana understands what she’s saying.

“Q, chill. I know you want to be there to support them. So I’ll go to support you.” Santana reasons. If it were anyone else Quinn would be touched by their self-sacrifice and their sweetness.

But this is Santana and thus Quinn starts to fear for lives.

 

~

 

Quinn spends the hours before the pep rally wondering who replaced her girlfriend with someone who cares about things like school spirit. Santana is restless and playfully teasing Quinn, who digs out her McKinley jumper for the occasion, right up until they find their place in the football stands.

She almost asks Santana to tone down her happiness (what has the world come to?) in case the people around them complained. It takes Quinn a minute to realize that Santana could start stripping and the people around them wouldn’t take their eyes away from the field.

She wonders why, and then she spots Sue Sylvester, bullhorn in hand and her nationally ranked Cheerios lined up. The expressions on their face, if Quinn could see them, would remind her of people waiting to be shot.

“What the hell did you-” Quinn’s mouth drops and Santana shushes her through a fit of suppressed laughter.

“Shh!”

Quinn’s eyes widen over the state of the people in front of them.

The Cheerios are lined up along the edge of the field. In sight of the somewhat meager, but no less enthused, football crowd. Quinn has never seen a more pathetic sight.

Their faces are completely covered in white. The air around them holds onto particles of dust that sends most into coughing sprees as Sue speaks. Thus enraging her further.

Each of them are covered in what appears to be the remains of flour-bombs. All, save for two smart, in Sue’s description and ‘lucky’ in Quinn’s, Mercedes and Kurt.

Sue’s raging comments are echoing around the playing field as she screams their inadequacies at ‘falling for such a cheap, amateurish prank’, looking like ghosts with eating disorders and ruining their uniforms. Quinn does not envy them or Santana, if she happens to be caught for her crime.

“I paid the kids from Home Ec and the lesbian softball team Mercedes’ dad coaches to pull it off.” Santana confides to her warmly. Quinn knows she shouldn’t feel proud because they’re so dead if this gets out but she can’t help but send Santana a smile.

She laughs into her hands discreetly as the large crowd mutters in confusion and anxiety for the start of the rally. Santana grabs one of her hands and laces their fingers together.

“Oh you shouldn’t have.” Quinn jokes at the depressed looking cheerleaders on the field. Santana grins and waves smugly to the only two clean cheerleaders on the squad. Kurt and Mercedes, their pale faces are present due to the shouting, can only weakly smile back through Sue’s ongoing tirade.

“Oh you know I’ll do anything to the spirit brigade for free.” Santana pretends to look mildly interested in the football players jogging out onto the field. Quinn half expected them to have been on the receiving end of Santana’s prank as well after their run in with Azimo.

Happiness dances within her knowing that Mercedes and Kurt avoided being hit because Santana cared about them; indirectly or not.   
Santana turns on her with a raised eyebrow; “But I also accept payment in sex. From you.”

“How charming.” Quinn rolls her eyes while Santana bumps her shoulder. A middle aged man in front of them cranes his neck to look back at Santana with disbelieving eyes. Quinn refrains from informing Santana of this when he turns back around.

“I have needs.” Santana lowers her voice suggestively like Quinn doesn’t already know this. Like she isn’t reminded of this constantly. She smirks.

“I have standards.” Quinn quips as the Cheerios begin their routines despite looking like they’d just been snowed on. Mercedes and Kurt are struggling not to grin now that Sue’s eyes are not on them.

Santana untangles their hands and wraps an arm around her waist. She pulls Quinn closer until her lips brush her ear. “Do I meet those standards?”

Quinn admits to melting a little. Her eyes flutter at Santana’s obvious victory and she can’t deny the swell of pride at seeing the full effects the prank has had on Sue Sylvester’s anger.

“Alright.” Quinn confirms. Santana’s eyes brighten at her submission. Quinn looks her dead in the eyes and states with the up-most seriousness. “I’ll go down on you in the car on the way home.”

Santana’s jaw clenches in arousal. As does the jaw of the man in front of them, who once again swirled to look at them with a mixture of disgust and interest. Quinn growls in his direction.

“Can I help you?” She seethes. Mentally Quinn imagines her voice must have squeezed the life out of the guy’s balls because his face quickly flashes as white as the flour covered girls on the field. He shakes his head.

Quinn twirls her finger deliberately, making clear that she wants him to turn back around.

He decides to move seats instead.

“Can we skip the game?” Santana’s heavy voice brings her out of her bitch-face. She’s gleaming. “I’d really like to get to the car part before Ladyface and Beyonce drive us home.”

Quinn smirks at the timing and cause for Santana’s sudden eagerness. “But S, the cheerleaders! In their skirts!” She mocks.

Not even the promise of short skirts can deter Santana. Quinn laughs as she’s marched out of the stands and towards the parking lot, throwing an apologetic wave to Kurt. The boy’s face drops in dismay when he realizes where they’re headed and that he can’t leave to stop them.

She’ll apologise later when she’s not adjusting the back seats of his car to lay down.

~

 

Sundays are still sacred to Quinn. They may not be perceived as such if she had to compare her Sunday morning rituals in the Jones’ house to the Fabray’s.

No longer is she required to drag herself out of bed before nine, dress in nice conservative clothing and walk to church with her parents. Sundays of her past are filled with strictness, prayer and condemning sermon in which every word seemed directed.

“I think Mercedes isn’t giving us as much honey as she used to.”

Quinn rolls over in her bed to face the door, and Santana who stands in it. She feels pleasantly tangled in duvet covers with the early heat of the sun hitting her back.

Santana stares down into the small jug of honey Mercedes has given them to go with the pancakes Santana has made.

Pancakes, honey and Santana in bed is Quinn’s new Sunday religion. Santana usually gets up before her, in whatever state of undress the night has left her in to make them pancakes. It’s something even Mercedes’ mom has gotten used to seeing. By the time Quinn is fully awake there’s a tray next to her and a gorgeous girl attempting to feed her breakfast. And Quinn will take that over church any day.

“That’s because you still had honey on your forearm last week when you brought the plates down.” Quinn rests her head in her hands and shares a smirk with Santana. “She’s obviously trying to limit the amount so we only have enough for pancakes.”

Santana places the food down and leans close to Quinn’s face. She smells like flour and cooking. Quinn tilts her head up, licking her lips to entice Santana.

“Such a shame that Mercedes has yet to sample the delights and other uses for it.” Santana teases.

Quinn bats her arm lazily. Although Santana lives here almost as much as Quinn does, she still manages to inject sly comments towards Mercedes every once and a while.

“Hey.” Quinn warns. The threat is short-lived as Santana kisses her slowly. It’s hot and sweet-tasting. “No wonder there’s less honey!”

Quinn tugs Santana onto the bed by the front of the girl’s shirt. “Stop stealing it!”

Santana laughs and grabs a fork. Quinn can’t argue seriously. The magical powers of Sunday mornings dampen her annoyance and in the end Quinn can only press her lips in hunger to Santana’s.

“Later.” Santana whispers with darkened eyes. “I really don’t want you to pass out or anything.”

Quinn loves the deep suggestiveness in Santana’s voice. It’s another difference in her new life to her old one. Quinn has a healthy sex life no matter how many times Mercedes calls it excessive. Quinn just happens to be able to keep up with Santana, multiple times a day.

“Hn, what if,” Quinn’s fingers find their way under the shoulder of Santana’s shirt and pull on the girl’s bra strap. “I don’t want to wait?”

The fork in Santana’s hand wobbles.

“Well,”

Quinn leans back and watches how Santana’s eyes pop to her slender hip bones peeking from under her shorts. A flutter of a groan breaks the atmosphere. Quinn bites her lip and runs her hands down her body, beckoning Santana to come closer.

Santana hastily puts the fork back on the plate.

“But S,” Quinn has laughter in her voice as she triumphs. “They’ll go cold!”

Santana throws a leg over her and suddenly all Quinn feels is heat. Her eyes turn to the ceiling and she sends out a different kind of prayer.

“They’ll taste the same.”

Hands find faces. Quinn strains her neck upwards. Butterflies and their kisses caress her body and explode in her stomach. It’s warmth, it’s love and familiarity. It’s sweet kisses and sweeter touches and it’s everything Quinn wants.

~


	3. Chapter 3

Things change because of a library.

More specifically when Quinn is at work in the library. Even more specifically and ironically because she’s struggling with Spanish and reading the ‘Time Traveler’s Wife’ between helping people find the books they want.

She doesn’t get paid much for doing it. The money she makes goes straight into the ‘Getting-the-hell-out-of-Lima’ fund because Mr and Mrs Jones won’t take a penny off her.

Even more specifically they don’t really change right away. In fact, it takes a while for Quinn to realize.

There are some things that just spring up on her. Like the tallest looking blond she’s ever seen staring down at her from the other side of the desk. Quinn has to reach her neck all the way back from her books because her eyes only fall level with the woman’s abdomen.

She’s wearing a blue polo shirt and tacked in yellow on the breast of the shirt is a name.

‘Brittany. S. Pierce.’ Is that actually a name?

“Um, hi.” says Quinn. She folds the corner of her page to remember where she’s up to before setting it down.

The blond’s attention, now that Quinn has addressed her, almost seems to waver in favour of looking at the things on her desk.

The stack of books Quinn hasn’t gotten around to replacing on their shelves, the half eaten packet of gum by her hand and Quinn’s unfinished Spanish quiz. Damn.

“Hi.” Brittany finally returns. There’s a nervous pause, on Quinn’s part.

Brittany, as her shirt confides, has an air of aloofness that Quinn isn’t sure whether to believe. Her eyes narrow and widen with passing seconds, suggesting how quickly she cycles through thoughts. It’s intriguing to watch.

“Can I help you?” Quinn offers.

“I don’t know...” Brittany’s eyes seem to glaze over and the frequent pauses in their conversation does nothing to help the strange churning in Quinn’s stomach.  
“...is there a children’s section in here?”

Quinn shakes her gaze away from the woman’s stomach again. Her neck was tired. “Oh, um, no there isn’t.”

Brittany appears perplexed. “Why not?”

Quinn forces a deep breath in the natural pause that occurs after the question. People mill around the library but no one else approaches. She’s feeling nervous for no reasonable reason.

“Y’know...” Quinn fidgets with the pack of gum. “Kids too busy getting into fights and having sex to read.”

Quinn has no idea why the hell that came out of her mouth. Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead in embarrassment.

Brittany, to her credit, doesn’t say anything. Letting Quinn attempt to salvage her dignity.

“Budget cuts.” She mumbles.

“Oh,” The woman laughs. “Sorry, you’re really good at looking serious.”

Quinn feels the backs of her shoulders heat up involuntarily. Santana would tease her mercilessly over this. Brittany catches her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Um, thanks-” Though Quinn’s not sure if looking serious is a compliment.

Brittany shakes her head and her long ponytail flails behind her. “I’m sorry, could you show me were the adult fiction section is?”

Quinn sits up too fast and hits her knee on the edge of her table. Through her quiet winces she replies; “Sure. Is that the section you want?”

Brittany waits for her to round the counter before she says anything. Quinn pushes the bell on the table to the edge in case people need her.

“I think so.” Brittany states looking absently at the people in the stacks. Quinn takes a step ahead, encouraging the girl to follow her.

“Undecided?” They venture to the back of the library to the fiction.

A laugh erupts almost out of nowhere. It’s precise and far too energetic for Quinn to believe it’s spontaneous. “No, I’m completely-”

Quinn stumbles a tad.

Brittany notices. “-sorry, you meant the books.”

There isn’t a doubt in Quinn’s mind that Brittany knew she meant the books. It doesn’t stop the blush on her face. She really hates how easy it is to make her flustered. Santana loves to take advantage of it.

Thankfully Quinn is able to steer them into the right aisle without anymore double-meaning mishaps. “Here we go.”

“What books do you like?” Brittany fires off.

Quinn is taken back and doesn’t speak. The woman’s fingers brush against the spines of the books on the shelves, not stopping on any in particular, but just skimming. The back of her neck is tickled by her hair which leads Quinn to read the back of the polo shirt.

There in bright yellow stitching displays the words; “Carmel High Dance Teacher.”

Carmel High regularly beats out McKinley High in every competitive event from football to chess. Quinn can remember the school’s name being thrown around back in the early years of her life when she had parents to decide where she would go to school.

McKinley was closer.

Her thoughts should have ended there. Quinn would have been happy to leave them in the aisle and return to her work station, and her book. However-

Santana’s warped mind must have corrupted her more than she knows because she can hear all of the teasing words Santana would say about this flexible-looking woman. This teacher.

Teacher, that would set Santana off more. There’s nothing like a challenge to authority than getting one over on a teacher. Pranking or seducing. Quinn’s watched Santana flirt shamelessly with Quinn’s teachers in order for her to be able to sit in on her lessons from time to time.

Everything is always for the benefit of the two of them. Quinn almost feels guilty that she’s the only one to witness the way this woman walks around the books. Gracefully.

“Is that a personal question?” Brittany has turned and is looking with concern at Quinn’s unresponsive body. “Sorry, I’ve been told I have no sense of tact-”

“It’s fine-” Quinn stammers keeping her eyes locked on Brittany’s shoulders. Her face is too risky when she’s thinking about what Santana would want to do to someone like the woman before her. “Harry Potter, I like Truman Capote, Niffenegger, 1942, Catch 22, Cornwall. I like Non-fiction-”

“That’s the ones with pictures right?” Brittany interrupts.

“Yeah.”

Brittany’s attention returns to the books on the shelves. She moves too fast to be really considering any of the titles and it fascinates Quinn. Only because her own choosing of books is a thorough and timely process. Not because the woman herself fascinates her. Nope.

“Did you need anything else?” Quinn asks politely.

Brittany stops on a book. “Just an opinion. This one;”

She pulls out a moderately worn paperback by George Orwell. “-is it any good?”

Quinn nods, recognizing the cover before the title.

“Animal Farm. I got about halfway through it but my...Santana-” Quinn ducks her head chuckling to herself. “-got bored of it.”

By bored Quinn meant that the book had been tossed to the side while Santana insisted on sneaking onto the McKinley football field to set fire to the grass so in the morning there were strips of blackened ground insulting Sue Sylvester. Good times.

“Santana?” Brittany repeats curiously. Who wouldn’t? It’s a strange name.

Quinn hears a ping in the distance and regains a shred of confidence. “I’m sorry, I have to get back to work.”

Brittany waves her away with the book. “It’s cool. I’ll see you.”

Quinn backs away quickly.

~

 

Quinn regains her usual self when she heads towards the table, and the source of the continuous ringing of her bell.

“Santana!” Quinn seethes. She rounds the reception desk and quickly pulls the bell away from Santana’s hands. Her girlfriend looks disappointed. “S, you can’t be here.”

“I’m not setting fire to anything this time. It’s cool.” Santana smirks and leans over the table into Quinn’s personal space.

“They banned you. And it wasn’t just the fire.” Quinn twitches at the memory.

Santana rolls her eyes. “Chill Q. What’s gotten you all riled up?”

Quinn presses a hand to her head trying to figure out a way to banish the thoughts of the woman she’s just helped with finding a book, when Santana does it for her.

“Nothing just-” Her eyes widen. “Santana, what the hell happened to your hands?”

Santana stretches her fingers out to display her bruised knuckles casually. “David Karofsky’s nose.”

“Santana.”

“Someone has got you all flustered!” Santana baits with pride, like she was the one responsible for it. “Is it Sam? Or am I just that good to think about? That’s a given.”

“Fuck, S-” Quinn grinds her teeth in agitation. She doesn’t know why she’s getting worked up. She’s heard Santana spout more annoying things for hours before.

“C’mon take your break.” Santana raises an eyebrow. “There’s no one in the self-help section.”

Her sing-song promise tweaks Quinn’s lip up. “Santana.”

“Hi again.”

Brittany stands off to the side of Santana, who still leans over the desk, holding the book Quinn saw her pick up. There’s a moment of awkwardness when all of them seem to zone in on Santana’s ass.

“Hey!” Quinn snaps out of her daze and glares at Santana to stand up properly. This is completely ignored and to Quinn’s horror, Santana smirks.

Not just with her usual smug attitude, no; she smirks because she can see Quinn fumbling and she’s caught onto something Quinn hasn’t worked out for herself just yet. It’s infuriating.

“Just that one?” Quinn narrows her eyes at Santana quickly before reaching out to take Brittany’s book. The front cover has a picture of a fat pig on the front.

“The picture won me over.” Brittany smiles. Unlike Santana, she’s not smirking. Quinn feels trapped between a rock and someone she’s had sex with.

Returning the smile Quinn starts to check out Brittany’s book with the computer. The conversation continues without her.

“Sorry, were you waiting?” Brittany addresses Santana, or Santana’s back as the girl is still bending over the desk. Quinn bites her lip at the view.

“Nah, Quinnie and I were just discussing-”

Furiously Quinn darts a ‘Don’t-you-dare-corrupt-the-innocent-bystander’ glare in her direction.

“-the pros and cons of ‘Self-help’. I’m all for it.”

If Santana had a lollipop she would be licking it. Quinn’s mouth goes dry and she’s painfully aware of the way Brittany watches them interact.

“Sounds interesting.” Comes the naive reply. “I can never get into it really. I prefer getting people to help me.”

Santana sniggers.

Quinn starts to wonder if this Brittany realizes what she’s implying to them.

“Totally.” Santana adjusts her position over the desk to face Brittany a little better. “Two is better than one right?”

There’s no doubt in Quinn’s mind that the dance teacher catches on to Santana’s meaning from the sudden realization that passes over her face. They’re both doing this to make her blush, she knows it.

“Mm, sometimes three.”

Santana looks as if she’s found a kindred spirit. “What do you think Q? Three?”

Quinn’s face burns violently, to the amusement of Santana and mild humor of Brittany, when she finally hands the book back to the blond.

“It’s out on a two week loan, if there’s anything else just come and ask me.” Quinn rushes out. Santana’s hands push closer to her side of the desk.

“I’ll be sure to. Nice meeting you both.”

“Get something from Self-Help next time!” Santana calls. To their surprise Brittany turns and winks, completing the joking interactions Quinn has just endured.

Santana whirls around and Quinn sighs. “You are shameless.”

“I am also incredibly turned on.”

Quinn can see it too. The flirting is a game, foreplay; it doesn’t really matter who’s on the receiving end because Santana’s slow burn is only ever available to Quinn. Most of the time, Quinn likes the flirting just as much.

It’s more intense today. Quinn can see it. They haven’t played that game in a while, and certainly not with someone like Brittany. Quinn knows that Santana took notice of the writing on the back of Brittany’s shirt just as much as she did.

Something flares up.

“Sam? I’m going on break!”

Quinn helps herself to Santana between the aisles of ‘Self-Help’ and Erotic Adult Paperbacks.   
~

 

That should have been it really.

A chance meeting. A book. A teacher at a school, teaching a lesson, that neither of them went to or had interest in.

Except it didn’t stay a chance meeting.

Santana reports back with Tina on Saturday with a case of beer that wasn’t cheap or stolen. Apparently Brittany had recognized her outside the store, as she’d woefully looked in, and offered to supply her.

“What did she want in return?” Quinn asks. Tina’s face flushes in contrast to Santana’s calm demeanor.

“Nothing. She was just being nice I guess.” Santana shrugs and dumps the box into the music booth at Schuester’s. “I’m sure she went a little crazy when she was younger too.”

Santana winks and Quinn rolls her eyes because the woman can’t be more than 26.

Tina is asleep by the time Santana is dragging Quinn to the corner of the booth and kissing her with a heat that’s been intensified in the past few days. Quinn doesn’t want to question why.

~

 

The next chance happens to her personally. Brittany returns the book with a sweetly confused smile saying that she didn’t really get it.

Quinn has half a mind to scoff, and she would if it were one of her classmates because ‘Animal Farm’? There was really no question to it’s relationship with a certain social framework.

She doesn’t though. Instead she somehow talks herself into an hour long discussion of the book with Brittany, who nods and smile at all the right moments, leading Quinn to wonder if she really had no idea what it was all about.

And then they stray.

She’s actually 25. A dance teacher just moved out of L.A. to help her mom get back on her feet.

“Literally.” Brittany had nodded. “She’s broken her leg and she’s in a cast.”

Quinn is dazed by the time Santana comes to pick her up from work. There’s a thin layer of something melding over their skin. She feels like Santana isn’t touching her, that she needs more because she can’t feel her hands, her mouth as deeply as she once did.

And it’s not for lack of trying. Quinn can’t remember the last time they’ve had so much sex.

But there’s something halting and confusing them in a way that wasn’t before.

“I love you.” Santana whispers against her neck as her breathing slows into sleep. Quinn weighs the sound of the declaration in her head.

It’s still as real, still as loving, still everything she’s heard for years. The anxiety doesn’t leave her.

“I love you too.” Quinn says quietly.

~

 

Quinn doesn’t get much chance to put on a smile before Santana kisses her gently, she’s happy about that really, because it’s been getting harder and harder to put one on her face for the past few days.

Santana doesn’t comment on her kiss not producing much of a response, instead tuning back into Tina and Artie’s conversation before kissing Quinn’s forehead.

The music booth goes silent with only the light breeze of old school Fall Out Boy keeping them from falling into nothingness.

“That was awkward.” Artie suddenly blurts out.

Quinn doesn’t understand until Santana bristles beside her in offense. “Excuse me?”

Tina, thankfully, jumps to her boyfriend’s defense. Wheelchair or not Santana would have decked him. “He didn--’t mean like;”

Quinn narrows her eyes because she’s not liking where this conversation is headed. For her own sake.

“-we just want to know w-what’s going o-n with you girls.” Tina stutters. Quinn is momentarily amused that she won’t relax enough into calling them ‘guys’ because of reasons that involve feminism and the objectification of women. It’s funny really.

Artie nods along. “Seriously, you’re both acting like someone’s died.”

“Did someone die?” Tina rounds on them, with an odd glint in her eye that makes Quinn shift closer to Santana.

“No?”

“No one died.” Santana confirms. “Though I can think of two-”

Quinn nudges Santana in the side. They are not going to kill Tina and Artie.

Artie looks worriedly down at Tina on the floor and then back to them. “Did you guys-” Artie has no problem objectifying them to his girlfriend’s dismay. “-break up?”

Coldness creeps into Quinn’s chest with Artie’s honest concern. Santana twitches against her.

“What the fuck Abrams?” Santana spits with agitation. Artie raises his hands in defense.

“No, we haven’t.” Quinn buries her side under Santana’s arm a little more. She feels safer there in the face of Artie’s allegation. “What makes you think that?”

Quinn realizes she’s missing half of the conversation because most of it is happening between Tina and Artie’s nervous glances.

“It’s just-” Tina looks awkwardly at their faces, as if focusing on something. “-it’s been five hours.”

“What?” Santana says boredly.

“Since you last kissed.” Artie’s eyes widen like he can’t believe he’s just told them that. “Five hours since you last kissed.”

“You counted?” Quinn raises an eyebrow skeptically. Really?

Santana’s mouth opens and closes in mild discomfort until she comes up with her response; “That’s creepy.”

The duo in front of them has the social grace to blush at their own awkwardness. Quinn feels riled. Like something she didn’t know has just been revealed to her. A secret that she didn’t really want brought up. And she knows Santana feels it too.

“I- we couldn’t help it.” Tina glares up at Artie for grouping them together. “-You’re normally mounting each other in front of us...”

Tina beats Santana to hitting Artie, even though she has to reach up to do it.

Quinn stares down at her knees. Tucked under her body and leaning into Santana. The skin revealed under the hem of her sundress taps against Santana’s. She’s wearing shorts. They’ve both toned down their rebel-without-a-cause looks for the weekend.

“Are you both okay?” Tina prompts again. The concern in her voice is touching but terrifying to Quinn. Are they okay? She feels like they mostly are, but there’s something lingering that Quinn can’t grab a hold of to make sure that’s truly the case. And that’s the aspect that eludes her.

Santana’s fingers loosen their grip on her waist and it makes her question again. Even if she herself is okay, is Santana?

Is Santana the one that’s stuck in a form of limbo with them? Or is it what Quinn has been hoping against and that both of them are walking in awkward circles around each other not wanting to talk about something they’re both over-thinking.

“Is it something to do about the woman that gave us beer the other day?” Tina wonders aloud.

Although her head shoots up Quinn doesn’t speak. Santana notices her movement.

“Okay, we’re not getting anywhere with this.” Artie mutters in exhaustion. Having little patience for their girl-problems.

Quinn closes her eyes and lets herself breathe in time with Santana. Their ribs push out against one and other in a comforting pressure.

Santana won’t be the first one to speak about this, even if Quinn wishes she would. There’s a little thing called pride that keeps Santana silent and Quinn wondering why she has to forfeit hers all the time.

“I think so.” Quinn admits to Tina. Her voice doesn’t raise much above a husky whisper but Tina can hear her.

“Santana?” Tina turns.

Santana sighs. “What?”

“Do you have something you want to add?”

Quinn tilts her head this time to see the conflict in Santana’s face. She believes there’s more than just admitting it to close friends, but it’s the start they need to take.

“It wasn’t very good beer.”

Quinn pinches Santana’s thigh for that.

“Alright! Fuck!” Santana recoils her arm from around Quinn to rub at the stinging skin Quinn has given her. Quinn sits up straighter to see her girlfriend fully. Tina and Artie watch with curious eyes. “-fuck, why are you even-”

Santana slaps a hand on the skin to eliminate pain with pain. It only makes her hiss more as a consequence. Quinn intervenes and slides her cool palm, the one that didn’t pinch her, over the pink skin there.

It soothes instantly.

A frown makes an appearance over Santana’s forehead. Artie and Tina disappear in the background when Quinn addresses that look.

“-do you want me to upset you?” Santana questions.

The answer is no. Quinn doesn’t want to be upset, nor does she want to upset Santana. But they can’t travel through life, in their relationship without ever getting upset. It’s a miracle they don’t have a chain of arguments under their belts already with everything that’s been thrown at them.

Mercedes had once told Quinn that if she was in Santana’s position for certain situations, like how Quinn hounds Santana to get to school, not to fight, to be a better person, she might not have stuck around.

But Santana did. Santana does.

“It’s okay.” Quinn meekly affirms. They’ve gotten through so much worse before.

Santana can see the blush on Quinn’s cheeks.

“I think we need to talk about Brittany.” Quinn states not giving anything away with her facial expression. Santana bites her lip decisively and nods once to agree.

“How hot she was?” Tina sparks up, attempting to lighten the serious mood. Artie pouts.

“How come you get to say things like that and I can’t?”

Within milliseconds a petty disagreement bursts out between them, leaving a cover of noise for Quinn and Santana.

“I love you.” Santana presses. It continues to amaze Quinn how freely Santana can say this to her. All evidence points to her not being able to express that.

“I know,” Quinn takes their hands together and places them in her lap. “-but it’s not a question of that. These last few days have been awkward because of Brittany and how we both-”

Santana brings them back out of serious-lane. “-wanted to bend her over your library counter and check her out-”

“-like her.” Quinn finishes, albeit with a smirk at Santana’s creativity.

“Shit, Q. I don’t know if I like her.” Santana rolls her eyes at Quinn’s emotional way of putting it.

“Fuck like- there’s not really a distinction with you.” Quinn challenges to Santana’s surprise.

“You know me too well.”

Their playful banter, which hasn’t made an appearance in days, is prematurely ended by Tina.

“The conclusion is that b-both of you find her attractive.”

Santana makes sure to see Quinn hesitantly nod first before quickly following in sync. Pride and everything.

Artie waves his hand dismissively. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Explain.” Quinn warily asks. The last time she checked, and that was overhearing Mrs Schuester ranting a few months ago - “Flirting is cheating Will!”, then again that’s not a very reliable source considering the crazy.

“Simple.” Tina states confidently. “It’s awk-ward between you both because you-ou’ve never liked the same p-person before.”

Tina has a point, Santana’s eyes say. Quinn pokes her side gently but is reminded of all the times, before they eventually got together via Rachel’s big mouth, that Santana had disapproved of her crushes - as well as visa-versa.

“Plus-” Artie continues. “-neither of you have really dealt with liking other people before.”

“What?” Santana questions. Quinn does internally because she was sure that Tina had been there to laugh at Santana flirting with people once or twice for fun. Then it hits her. It was only ‘for fun’.

“He means that, you’ve been to-together for years.” Tina stresses. “Years that have seen things m-most couples would have split-t up over.”

“Crushes in the past couldn’t touch what you guys have.” Artie adds helpfully.

Quinn is rushed with defense. Crushes were crushes. They didn’t mean anything. This feels more intense, more unhinging.

“Santana is enough for me.” She says clearly. “I love her, I don’t know what I’d do without-”

She’s so lucky. She’s lucky because she’s found the person, her best friend, her lover, so early on in her life and there’s no doubting that. Santana is all that she needs.

“Agreed. Point?” Santana’s arm slides over her back again in a calming movement. Quinn can breathe again.

Tina’s shoulders slump a little. “I’m j-just saying. If this Brittany has caused you to f-eel awkward, then she’s unbalanced you.”

“Seriously, because there was nothing like this when Schuester’s lady friend Holly came-”

Quinn zones out of the rest of Artie’s retelling of Holly Holiday to nuzzle her nose into Santana’s neck. The warmth there is what she wants.

She can feel the stress between them ebbing away slowly. It’ll still be there in the morning but not as much, she hopes. Quinn can deal with this thing.

“Teacher’s got nothing on you.” Santana whispers in her ear.

Tina and Artie are once more distracted when Quinn lets herself smile into Santana’s kiss. She feels better, it feels good to connect again. The awkwardness retreats.

~

 

They’re undressing each other when Quinn brings it up. It’s an innocent motion really.

Quinn pulls Santana’s hair out from underneath the back of her shirt and lets Santana unbutton the side of her dress. Shoes are slipped off with ease. A stray foot closes the bedroom door.

“Do you think they’re right?” Quinn brushes her fingers along Santana’s collar, distracted by the skin there.

Santana shivers. “Who?”

Quinn smirks at how easy Santana is sometimes. “Tina and Artie.”

Santana lets Quinn pull her shirt over her head in one motion. The air is cool enough to bring forth goosebumps on her tan skin. “About?” She prompts.

“About us not used to dealing with other...people.” Quinn phrases carefully to avoid naming names. Names they’ve never really said around each other.

Santana watches her fold her shirt in her hands before taking it from her. Quinn frowns when she tosses it carelessly behind her. Ruining the concept of folding.

“Maybe.” She provides. Quinn gasps when Santana closes in on her to tug feebly at the zip of her dress. Her back arches into the warm body. “But I’ve never like, needed to. It’s always been you Q. Even when you didn’t know.”

Quinn eliminates the space between them and latches onto Santana. The zip is pulled down slowly to savour the contact.

“But if this girl-”

“Woman.” Santana corrects.

Quinn frowns. Brittany is older than them. “If she can unhinge us, then-”

Santana moves her hands along Quinn’s back and brings them over her shoulders. Quinn’s dress falls over her shoulders only to be caught by her hands above her chest. Her white bra straps almost blend into her skin.

“What?” Santana asks.

“It’s stupid.” Quinn tries to shake off, letting her hands drop. Her dress catches on her hips and Santana pushes it down until it’s nothing more than material pooling around her feet. Quinn feels more naked than she is.

“Tell me.” The simple plea sways her.

Quinn steels herself for the worst and throws her pensive thought out there. “Maybe it’s something we need.”

Santana doesn’t waste a second, making Quinn think she doesn’t want to let her doubt.

“I need you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Quinn pauses.

She needs Santana, she wants Santana, and has done since that first kiss at Schuester’s. Even before that, as Santana had put, it was always them. Even when it wasn’t.

“I love you. I’m not-” Quinn defends.

“You’re not usually wrong.” Santana pieces together. Quinn trembles as hands brush against her stomach intimately.

“What?” She questions Santana’s sudden reflective outlook.

“I mean, about things like this. You’re not usually wrong.” She has to look up at Quinn and it’s the first time Quinn’s noticed their height difference in a while. “You’ve got a way about you Q.”

A light bulb goes off and Quinn knows this tone of voice. Santana is working something out. There’s a plan in it’s first stages.

“You always know when things are gonna change, you’re like freaking nature.” Santana quickly pops open the top button of her shorts and Quinn follows with the zip. There’s a rush that wasn’t there a second ago.

“So maybe it’s something that’s been sent to try us, or whatever you usually say it is.” Santana finishes, convinced of her words.

“I only say that about exams.” Quinn reminds. “And Puckerman.”

Their joint hands push Santana’s shorts off her hips and to the floor. “Same thing.”

Quinn decides that the only way to really figure this out, to figure them out, is to go with it. They’ve never been steered too wrong before.

“So what’s the plan?” Quinn smirks getting into the mindset.

Santana doesn’t answer. A hand grasps the back of her neck and leads her into waiting lips. Biting kisses, wanton heat; Quinn groans and comes back with misty eyes. The dark determination and flirty intent in Santana makes her swoon.

“If it’s okay with you.” Santana cheekily kisses her neck. This is the same plan they’ve used before, except with added risk and added seriousness. Santana has to engage part one for Quinn to have part two.

She knows what Santana is asking.

Another hot kiss is pressed to Quinn’s neck and the once innocent shedding of clothes turns into a desperate stripping towards Quinn’s bed.

“Ask the teacher out then.”

It’s a higher risk, but one they can’t pass if they want to get through this barrier. If Brittany says yes then all systems are go. Guilt free.

Quinn hits the mattress and the lights go out from the room.

~

 

There’s nothing more than an inkling when the night-in-question comes. Only Mercedes is witness to their exchange before hand.

Santana slinks into the kitchen in heels and one of Quinn’s shorter black dresses. Quinn smirks from her place by the stove. Mercedes’ jaw drops as she sets the table and Santana winks playfully at her.

“Where do you think you’re going like that?” Quinn teases knowing that there’s a car parked outside waiting for Santana.

Santana twirls around the kitchen island and into one of Quinn’s arms. The other stirs pasta sauce.

“Maybe I have a date.” Santana banters. Mercedes rolls her eyes and Quinn wonders what she’d say if she knew it was true.

“You know you have a curfew.” Quinn jokes and runs her hand down Santana’s thigh. She’s going out without her, she’ll be unwatched and flirty, but Quinn can still make her shiver and remember this.

“What if I’m not back in time?” Santana lowers her voice dangerously. Mercedes covers her ears with a mock-offense.

“Then I’ll know who I’m bending over my library counter.” Quinn whispers dirtily and turns up the heat on the stove. Santana burns red with an anticipation Quinn enjoys.

Mercedes doesn’t uncover her ears until Santana has kissed her deeply and strutted out of the door.

Quinn’s rush of confidence leaves her and she quickly turns her back to the world. Focusing on the food she’s making for her and Mercedes.

“Where’s your girl really going?”

Quinn chances a glance back to her self-proclaimed sister. “Dancing.”

The lie is smooth and practiced.

“You’re not going with her?” Mercedes comes to her side and retrieves dishes from the cupboards.

Quinn shakes her head. A part of her has, she thinks.

“No,” She smiles at Mercedes. “I promised you dinner remember?”

Mercedes’ bashful energy distracts her for the night. The meal is delicious and they talk and laugh until Quinn can’t separate their voices. She’s missed this.

“I’ll get the washing, you get to bed.” Mercedes helps her stand off the couch into a brief hug. It’s not Santana but Quinn doubts she’ll get a hug off her until the morning. “Thanks for tonight Quinn, it’s good to have some girl time once and a while.”

“Minus Kurt?”

“Kurt is only honorary.” Mercedes jokes but Quinn knows that she means more than this. She misses spending one on one time with Mercedes too. It’s something being in love and having a high-maintenance gay best friend-slash-cheerleader can take you away from.

“I’ll see you in the morning ‘Cedes.” Quinn says fondly. “Night.”

The steps aren’t too far apart and Quinn’s mind doesn’t wander further than her own room. Anxiety stays clear of her dreams.

~

 

Quinn panics when a heavy weight presses down on her body. It’s sudden and rips her from her light sleep with a yelp.

Santana doesn’t even tease her for it. Quinn blanks in the face of the wake-up call. Santana’s hair is falling around her face, like Quinn feels her own against her pillow. Her make-up is smudged from heat but her eyes are still as sharp. Devoid of sleep, unlike Quinn, who can feel the beckoning call of dreams.

She didn’t even expect Santana home tonight.

“Sss-” She hisses sleepily.

It’s a prompt enough for Santana to pull up the end of the black dress she’s wearing. It inches up over her thighs, skin flashing. More and more. Quinn’s sleepy body twinges in an attentive arousal that she can’t dream away.

She’s not fully awake, and Santana isn’t fully dressed. Quinn was certain Santana had actually worn underwear on her date.

“Come here-” Santana settles on her, straddling her hips, to tug at the waistband of Quinn’s pajama pants.

Cool air rushes in with her hand and Quinn moans as she feels her underwear being pulled away from her body. Santana has serious intent in her face and Quinn burns under her gaze.

It feels new. It feels intense.

Her sleepwear scratches against Santana’s bare skin. What happened tonight?

“Ah,” Quinn blows out against Santana. The pace isn’t rushed, nor frenzied, Quinn relishes in the staying touches Santana place on her body. As if she’s remapping Quinn by touch. As if they’ve never done this before.

Santana is bed-warm from someone else but Quinn just wants that heat against her. She can’t process that other reason or train of thought. Not when Santana is shifting her hips and pulling her pants completely off her.

It’s different to the usual teasing and playful manner, the flirty confidence has faded from Santana and been replaced with this new or old way of loving her. Quinn can’t breathe well enough to say anything. All she can do is feel and try not to embrace the wash of blissful tearing in her eyes.

Santana kisses down her stomach and further.

Quinn will think about it in the morning, and lose herself now.

~

 

Self-consciously Quinn pulls her finger from her mouth with a pop. The last traces of honey syrup stay heavily on her tongue and she swallows.

Santana watches her with a breathless interest that doesn’t belong on her face. Not after being together for so long, and especially not when they eat pancakes like this every Sunday. Yet Santana exhales when Quinn stops sucking the sweet liquid off her fingers like it was making her uncomfortable. The fun kind of uncomfortable.

The strange attentive observations haven’t escaped Quinn’s notice. She woke up to Santana studying her through sleepy eyes. Stroke the small of her back into consciousness. Her warm hand that someone else had held last night.

“Do you want some more?” Quinn asks, pushing the last of the pancakes towards Santana. Her girlfriend barely breaks eye contact with her to shake her head and offer the breakfast back to her. Another change. Santana never turns down free food.

Hesitantly, like she thinks Santana may change her mind, Quinn spears the pancake onto her fork. Droplets of syrup fall back onto the plate when she doesn’t take a bite quick enough. A small noise of amusement comes from Santana when Quinn misses her mouth and splatters the treacle sweetness down her chin.

“What?” Quinn laughs at herself. Santana blushes in the morning light and passes her a napkin. “I totally had that-”

Quinn can’t shake the odd feeling around them. It’s like the barrier she felt before she agreed to Santana going out with Brittany, but not. There’s no trace of awkwardness between them. There’s a flutter of something simple and bright. Appreciative in some ways.

She notes how Santana follows the napkin wiping over her chin. She’s being studying. She’s being mapped out - again. Quinn heats, remembering how Santana came in last night and awoke her. Remapping her body in the night, and now in the morning.

‘Like she’s seeing me for the first time.’ Quinn ponders.

She wouldn’t think one night with another woman could do that. Except it seems so.

Santana reaches over and brushes a spot of syrup that Quinn missed before kissing her. The plate and remains of the pancakes are between them. Santana balances uneasily on her knees across them. Too caught up in the feeling to move them.

Not that Quinn can either. There’s a newness in their embrace that she finds herself liking. A small change that she never knew she’d wanted before.

Like Santana had matured, not much, but a tad.

“Morning.” Quinn smiles in a daze.

“You’ve said that.” Santana places a hand by her knee. “You keep saying that.”

“Just making sure we’re on the same page.” Quinn retorts. Though she knows she keeps saying it because she’s refraining from pinching herself into reality.

Santana smirks in disbelief.

“What?” Quinn asks innocently. She makes room on her bedside table to avoid Santana’s gaze. Then she moves the plates and cutlery onto the side and out of the way. When she faces back the smirk is still present.

“Just...ask, okay?” Santana slips. Quinn can hear a small insecurity in her request and realizes that Santana needs to tell her about it, just as much as Quinn needs to hear it. It’s the whole point of what they’ve done.

Quinn nods and settles back comfortably onto her pillows. “Well?”

“It was...good.” Santana starts. Her mind is elsewhere and back into the night. Quinn tries to follow her with her narrative. The story floats out with pictures in their minds.

Brittany had borrowed her mother’s car, seeing as there was no way she could drive it with her broken leg, to pick Santana up. They’d talked a little, it had been strange but there was a spark of something to come in their exchange.

“She took you dancing?” Quinn reaches out to touch Santana’s elbow, mimicking the way Brittany had apparently steered her into the club, sans ID, and to the dance floor.

“It was intense.” Santana admits. Neither of them have ever crossed that line and attempted to get into the rare clubs Lima has. But in the black dress Santana had on last night, there was no question that she was able to pass for the right age. “There was just so many people there, the lights, the music-”

“Did you like the music?” Quinn teases.

“It fucking sucked.” Santana replies honestly. “But no one seemed to care.”

And by no one, Quinn knows, she means Brittany. The dancer had parted the packed crowds and dragged them to the middle of the scene. Dancing was the only thing possible.

Quinn draws circles down Santana’s arms as she continues to retell the night. The flirting smiles and the tapping touches, until they were both hot and sticking to their clothes that the excuse for not dancing closer just evaporated.

She can see the tantalizing image of Santana pressed against Brittany in her head. It should make her jealous, or enraged or something, but Quinn breathes out and lets her body warm at the cool way Santana describes it.

“Drinking?” Quinn asks curiously.

“Not at the place, Brittany took me to her house.” Santana admits, watching the patterns Quinn now makes on her hand with fascination. “Well, her mom’s house.”

“Was she there?” Quinn immediately probes. That’s awkward.

Santana shrugs. “I didn’t see her if that’s what you mean and Brittany didn’t tell me to-”

She blushes and Quinn is intrigued once more. “She didn’t tell you to what?”

Santana rolls her eyes with a wide smile that spells trouble. She rubs her face with the hand Quinn isn’t touching and laughs at herself. “God, you have to swear not to laugh at me-”

“Laugh, why would I laugh S?” Quinn rises on her elbows. “She didn’t tie you up and leave you did she?”

Santana groans and pushes Quinn down again. “Quinn!”

“She did!”

“She didn’t! Shut up!” Santana playfully holds Quinn down by her wrists and rests her weight on her. “Just shu-”

“You’re holding out on me. C’mon S.” Quinn wiggles her hips into Santana to coax her more.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m sure this conversation is usually the other way around.” Quinn points out.

Santana pauses and notes that it is before getting back on track. “Okay now that you’ve gotten that outburst off your chest-”

“I won’t laugh.” Quinn promises. Mentally she will though, if it’s funny enough.

Santana warily takes her word and breathes in for dramatic effect. “Okay, first off that whole ‘I don’t know what you mean? What’s the plot of Animal Farm?’ thing she’s got going on?” Quinn flushes at the thought that Brittany mentioned that. “-utter crap.”

“Secondly, for someone who twirls and skips for a living, she’s strong as hell-”

Suddenly Quinn can see where this is going. “She totally topped you.”

“Can you not put it like that?” Santana winces like her pride still hurts. But there’s something Quinn can see now.

“She totally topped the shit out of you.” Quinn teases trying to free her wrists. “You loved it.”

“Q, you wound me.” Santana says, but doesn’t deny it. “It wasn’t like she-”

“Dominated you? Are you sure she didn’t tie you up?”

“There was no- It wasn’t power-play shit.” Santana rolls her hips into Quinn letting her know that no matter what happened to her last night, she’s still on top literally now. “It was just the I’m-stronger-than-you kind of thing.”

Quinn can tell it’s hard for Santana to admit that. Much less have Quinn know that she enjoyed it.

“School-girl fantasy much S?” Quinn bites the tip of her tongue in glee and Santana lets herself take that one in jest. She can imagine Brittany holding Santana down, much like she’s being held now, only with less clothing and a more heated intent.

She shivers at the image, letting Santana become aware of her thoughts.

“How was it?” She asks bravely. She doesn’t know what to expect with Santana’s coming answer, much less how to feel about it. Until now there’s been no anxiety or the green head of envy about them. It’s felt like something she’s needed to hear.

“Amazing.” Santana breathes out. There’s an awe in her voice that does nag at Quinn but she has to remember, she’s had that first. She’s had that response for years. “She was amazing, Q and-”

Santana releases her hands and sits back on Quinn’s hips. “-it was like nothing,” She pauses assessing her words carefully. “It wasn’t like being with you though.”

Quinn smiles wearily, not understanding fully.

“-I think she knew that too. Like there was something missing even though it was something we both wanted and-” Santana stops short. “I missed you being there.”

Quinn wishes Santana’s shirt was longer so she could pull her down for a kiss more easily, but the struggle to push herself up for one says more than enough. Reassurance.

“I think she noticed that too.” Santana hums to herself with a light tone.

“What do you mean?” Quinn approaches. She hopes nothing went wrong.

“No, no, everything was okay but we stopped for a second and she asked about you.” Santana admits with foggy eyes. She’s back there in the moment. “She asked if I’d ever slept with you-”

Quinn thinks that’s an odd question to ask but doesn’t voice her opinion. Brittany really knows next to nothing about their relationship, or Santana’s intentions.

“I said yes, and I think she caught onto what wasn’t happening-” Santana moves her arms around the space between them. “Like she knew I wanted you, not just there, but in general and she played off it.”

“Played off it?” Quinn echoes. “What do you mean?”

It’s at this that Santana goes red, but no embarrassment follows, like there’s a sense of pride in what Brittany achieved with her.

“She likes to talk, to say things when she fucks.” Santana puts bluntly. Quinn can see the space between them vanishing rapidly.

“Yeah?” She gulps. “Like...?”

Santana presses a kiss to her lips, lightly and teasingly. The atmosphere has shifted from one of neutral story telling to reenacting almost.

“Like about what she thought I do with you.”

“With me?” Quinn can feel her heart pounding faster at the idea that Brittany had seduced Santana with words about her. “Tell me.” She whispers.

“She was saying things like-” Santana’s eyes are darker and her voice drops to an uncanny imitation of Brittany’s voice. “ It’s usually you in my position isn’t it? Do you like being on top of her?”

Quinn shudders.

“- Seeing her blond hair over the pillow, your fingers inside her- tight-” Santana adds in her own voice, as if that’s what she’d told Brittany.

“-What does she look like when she comes?” Santana teases and nips at her jaw now. Wetness tweaks between her legs now. “- or do you both prefer library aisles?”

Quinn arches suddenly and grabs onto Santana’s shirt. The kiss is frantic and challenging. When Santana opens her eyes again Quinn is straddling her hips and panting out of breathe.

“That’s exactly what happened-” Santana points out. Her arousal is worn all over her face. Quinn wonders if it had just been a guess about the library aisle thing, or if Brittany had really picked up more about them in their little exchange than she’d realized.

She grinds down without words to listen to the strangled moan Santana returns to her. The rest of the night is unimportant to hear now. Quinn wants.

“Show me what she did to you?” Quinn lowers her eyes and bites her lip. Her hands push up Santana’s shirt above her naked breasts hungrily. Her nipples harden and Quinn licks her lips.

Santana’s speechless reaction soon changes to one of predatory anticipation. She folds her hands over her head, her hair framing her face with a dark contrast and beckons Quinn with her eyes.

“Hold me down.” She directs.

Quinn smirks.

~

 

Word of Santana punching Karofsky reached Coach Tanaka, the relatively uncaring football coach of the McKinley Titans - and Quinn thinks you’d have to be pretty uncaring if you coached a team that hasn't won in years - took it to Figgins.

Obviously forgetting his previous threat, or letting her off easier because Quinn had managed to keep Santana out of his office for at least two weeks, he’d suspended her for a week.

Which was great in the sense that Santana wasn’t being kicked to the curb.

What sucks is that Quinn is the one who’s dealing with the backlash of the jocks and cheerleaders, mostly, alone for the week. She wouldn’t drag Tina and Artie into helping her, for their sakes, and there’s no real use trying to hide behind Kurt and Mercedes.

Skipping is out of the question too, not unless she wants to get suspended as well.

By lunchtime her hair is already sticking to the back of her neck and stained red thanks to Karofsky’s thug of a friend Azimo throwing a slushie at her back. Apparently that’s the new weapon of choice ever since their bust up in the cafeteria.

Onlookers smirk and giggle at her as she storms through the halls. She cannot wait until Azimo realizes that Santana isn’t permanently suspended.

Bursting through into the nearest bathroom, Quinn decides to avoid the cafeteria in general. No one frequents this bathroom, mostly because it smells of industrial cleaner. Quinn finds comfort in looking at the faded marker portrait of Sue Sylvester defacing the far wall. Good times.

Sighing she gets to work washing her hair. Quinn comfortably stands shirtless in front of the mirrors while she does this, moving to hold her head underneath the hand dryers once finished.

The red slushie is harder to get out of her green ‘Downloading is not a crime’ shirt. Quinn has to settle for a faint colour tinge in the end.

Her frustration bubbles underneath her skin for a second. Quinn forces herself to calm and breathe. Revenge isn’t the answer.

She eats her lunch whilst sitting on the sinks in the bathroom, debating whether or not to redraw the old Sylvester portrait before leaving for her last classes, she doesn’t need the cheerleading coach coming down on her any more than she already does.

She avoids drawing attention to herself in Spanish, even as she silently curses Mrs Schuester and hopefully glances to the door every few minutes in the hope Santana will appear.

By the time the final bell has rung Quinn is just ready to run home. Texting out a quick message to Mercedes, telling her not to wait up, Quinn is about prepared to make good on her desire.

But her day was never going to let her flee that easily.

“Hey.”

Quinn’s bag slips off her shoulder at the voice addressing her. She manages to catch it before it hits the floor but it puts her in a position were she has to look up to see who’s talking to her.

Quinn’s palms sweat when she finds Brittany’s casual stance and bright complexion. She didn’t expect this.

“Hi.” She stammers.

“I was wondering if we could talk?” Brittany asks and Quinn feels trapped without Santana to help her out of this.

“Um,” She wracks her brains trying to think of something, anything, that would help her out.

“Don’t worry.” Brittany eases out. “I won’t bite.”

Quinn happens to know that’s not entirely true. “S-sure.”

Brittany smiles and takes Quinn’s bag out of her hands. Quinn is about to protest until she realizes that Brittany is carrying her bag for her and is on her way out of the school’s car park. She swiftly follows.

“Good day?” Brittany asks politely. Quinn feels the back of her shirt. It’s still damp.

She lies. “It was okay.”

Quinn notices Brittany is dressed in loose clothing, no doubt finishing early from her teaching at Carmel.

“How were...your lessons?” Quinn feels really strange asking. She’s spent so long silently loathing or not caring for teachers, other than using them to get out of here, to be well versed in interacting with them outside answering questions.

“Really good. Sometimes I wonder if they really need me there - they’re so focused.” Brittany laughs off.

Quinn can’t argue with that. Carmel’s reputation for excellence in the arts as well as normal academia far outstripped McKinley. Brittany’s skills must be more than she credits herself for if she’s teaching at that level.

“Right.” Quinn agrees. She watches the way her bag swings off Brittany’s tall shoulder. Where are they going?

“I didn’t really come to find you to talk about that though-”

This is it. This is what she expected.

“Really?” Quinn plays off innocently oblivious so well that Brittany almost believes her.

“No.” She smiles down at her. “I mean I don’t mind walking with you and everything-”

Quinn is reduced to the level of a child who doesn’t know her way home. Brilliant.

“What do you want?” Quinn asks a little more snappish than intended. She’s on the defense. Brittany has invaded her territory by turning up to her school.

There’s no reply at first. Brittany seems content to lead her down the road to the sounds of passing cars and in no real direction. It makes Quinn nervous.

“I haven’t lived here too long.” Brittany confesses randomly. “I get lost sometimes and I had to ask directions to your school.”

Quinn hopes that Brittany isn’t getting them lost now.

“But I’m probably going to be around for a while, what with the dancing and the kids,” She keeps rambling. “-and my mom isn’t well enough yet-”

The more she strays from the topic Quinn had expected, the more her nerves flicker and twitch.

Without warning Brittany stops in the middle of the sidewalk. The few people that walk behind them quickly dodge out of the way and continue their journey. Quinn avoids their disgruntled faces and turns with question to Brittany.

“I’m not here to mess around with girls.” Brittany states bluntly. So bluntly that Quinn feels like she’s been pushed back.

“Excuse me?”

“Santana?” Brittany clarifies. “She’s your girlfriend.”

“Yes,” Quinn confirms stammering. “But you-”

“I didn’t know, she didn’t tell me-”

“It’s alright.” Quinn tries to reassure Brittany, who now looks incredibly guilty for something she never had much control over in the first place. Even if Santana told it otherwise.

“I don’t understand.” Puzzlement pastes over Brittany’s face. “She’s your-”

“Yes, we are- and she-” Quinn can’t figure out a way to explain other than with the obvious truth. Santana is going to kill her. “She liked you, likes you -”

Brittany’s eyes narrow in confusion. Quinn realizes she’s going to have to go further.

“-and it was disrupting us, how much she, we-”

“You like me too?” Brittany finally interjects, giving Quinn a chance to recover.

“Yes.” She admits with a blush. It’s different admitting it when the object of that like is standing in front of you. She’s never had to confront this with Santana.

Brittany smiles like she enjoyed hearing that. Like Quinn was cute.

“We’ve been together for a long time and no one’s ever thrown such a curve ball at us-” Quinn shakes her hands. “That day at the library shook us up and bit, and it took us a few days to figure out why.”

Brittany listens intently.

“-and I thought, and Santana, that if we wanted things to ease back or whatever that it would be good for us...her.” Quinn corrects. “-to maybe pursue it.”

“Oh.” Brittany says. “What about you though?”

“Um, I’m-” Quinn doesn’t get to form a reason when Brittany snaps her fingers.

“Right, I forgot for a second there.” She doesn’t elaborate what she means with that to Quinn’s chagrin. “Wow, I feel kind of special then.”

Quinn lets herself smile along with Brittany’s admission. Wondering how much Brittany thought she knew about what happened with Santana.

She flushes a dark red as she hears Santana’s imitation of Brittany in her mind again. Saying those things, those dirty seductive things.

“I’m sorry for-” Quinn offers with a hint of guilt. “-putting you on the spot like this.”

“I’m more sorry, I should’ve asked more questions when Santana approached me.” Brittany ducks her head bashfully. “It didn’t occur to me that you were both so...serious.”

They pick up their pace again and pass several streets into more familiar roads. Quinn thinks she knows where they’re going now.

Quinn nods. “We can be ambiguous sometimes.”

“Amphibian?” Brittany remarks.

“Um,” Quinn wasn’t prepared for that. “We look like close friends, to strangers.” She leaves out the part that even most strangers can tell that they’re together, mostly because the rumor mill is constantly updated with their on-goings.

“Well, I doubt you’re much of a stranger to me now.” In that throw away comment Quinn realizes just how much Brittany must have focused on entertaining Santana with comments about Quinn. And all of the things Santana must have admitted in return.

Brittany tightens her hold on Quinn’s bag as they turn into the next street. Like a shining beacon calling out, Quinn can see the familiar red sign for Schuester’s and wonders how Brittany knew to lead her here.

She doesn’t attempt to say anything until they cross the road and stop a little way away from the door.

“Thanks.” Quinn says. For carrying her bag, for walking her, for talking about everything and not freaking out, she mentally adds.

For all of her confusion Brittany nods in a silent confirmation. “It’s nothing.”

She hands Quinn back her bag, adjusting the straps on her shoulders to Quinn’s blush.

“I guess I’ll see you soon?” Brittany entertains closely.

Quinn has to breathe before she can form an answer, she’s all too aware that there are people in Schuester’s waiting for her. People who can probably see her. “I ho-, sure.” She stutters out.

A shift in the air doesn’t go unnoticed. There’s no one in the street to ask questions, something that baffles Quinn looking back. Surely someone?

Brittany grins at her stuttered words. “You’re just as sweet as Santana described.”

Wait, what?

Brittany makes an unusual sweep of the area around her before deciding something.

Everything leaves her when a gentle hand cups her cheek and shifts her forward into a brief but no less surprising kiss.

Quinn gasps when it ends, catapulting a sense of victory onto Brittany’s face.

“See you later Quinn.” She’s taking her hand off her face. She’s waving and retreating back across the room.

‘Did that just happen?’  
~


	4. Chapter 4

Dazed steps lead her into a frenzy of more confusion.

Brittany’s lips, however briefly and sweetly, just -

Quinn brings a hand to her mouth with a small pant. She kissed her. Sweeping in like autumn leaves across a sidewalk, leaving Quinn’s chapped lips tasting different when she wets them.

She doesn’t even register her own hands pushing open the doors to Schuester’s until the bell goes off and Finn’s hulking form is planted in front of her.

“What the hell was that?” He looks hurt.

Quinn freezes and realizes that everyone had watched. Glass windows like a movie screen. And Quinn was a main character.

“Fi-” She can’t bring herself to reply. Finn has a crestfallen quality that she can’t sympathize with now. It’s nothing to do with him. Maybe Santana was right.

Santana.

Quinn whirls her eyes from aisle to aisle, bypassing Tina’s joking thumbs up and Artie’s dumbstruck expression. There’s so much emotion, a whirlwind of it; Quinn can feel Finn’s jealousy, though it confuses her; Tina’s self-satisfied smugness at being right, and Artie’s excited yet fraying nerves.

Quinn feeds off it all so much that she can’t contain her own shock, her own difference, until she finds the blank canvas she’s looking for.

Santana doesn’t wear a visible expression and it almost makes Quinn think she’s ruined everything. Except Santana would have ruined it first.

A spark connects the blankness to the colour in Quinn’s mind. Magnetic forces pull her towards Santana.

She takes a wild guess that this was how Santana felt when she came back from Brittany’s the other night. The unstoppable force of need, lunging and propelling her towards Santana is something she can’t deny. Quinn understands now, she feels it and remembers the intensity in Santana’s touches.

Just looking at Santana now is different. It’s broader, it’s wanting and electric. It’s like seeing her, wanting to touch her, for the first time.

“Quinn-” Finn starts again. She’s brushed past him, past the aisles with posters of Katy Perry, past the unpacked boxes of vinyl LPs; magnetic. Quinn collides with Santana’s body in an implosion. Curling into her, arms around her waist; they keep backing up.

Santana stumbles but rushes them backwards into their music booth. No one says a word.

The quickness in which they hit the floor doesn’t hurt as much as it normally would. Santana is panting with darkened eyes and tense muscles.

Quinn can see the scene play out behind Santana’s eyes. How she must have watched in eager anticipation, with the first spark of arousal, knowing that Brittany was going to do something. Knowing that she’s bedded the girls stood before her.

Santana can’t stop her hands, or so it feels, at the thought; at the scene. Quinn covers their lips together. Santana licks over Quinn’s mouth, trying to taste Brittany.

“Jeans, off.” Santana pulls violently at Quinn’s belt loops. Skinny jeans had not been a wise decision. The morning seems so far away. The day without Santana fades in the face of all the contact now bestowed on her.

Quinn pops the button open but grapples unsuccessfully with her belt. “It’s not-”

“-let me.” Santana growls. “-rip them off if I have to.”

The promise starts to soak in, literally.

They’re being anything but quiet and a small sense self-preservation alerts itself to Quinn. She stares up at the windows above them hoping no one is wondering what the hell they're up to from their hidden place on the floor.

“Don’t - people outside.” Quinn is getting caught up in it all. She wants what Santana says. She wants her to rip off her jeans and just take her right there.

“Fuck ‘em, they know to wait.” Santana rushes Quinn’s zip down and spreads the material as easily as she spread Quinn’s legs. Kisses bite and occasionally miss. They’re too far gone in the memory of Brittany’s lips on Quinn to remember.

“Wait, wait.” Quinn pushes back against Santana’s shoulders. Her words are accented with her hands as they travel to grab at Santana’s ass. “Just thrust into me.”

“Q,” Santana almost looks disappointed for a second until the fingers that dipped beneath her underwear hit home.

“No,” Quinn makes Santana pull her hand away from there. They can do that later, for hours, and Quinn will clean Santana off after it. “Just thrust-”

Quinn doesn’t give Santana a second choice, hitching her legs behind Santana’s knees and pulling Santana’s hips into her.

There’s so much fabric between them that for a second Quinn regrets not letting Santana strip her until the friction finally kicks in and shudders. “Ohh-”

 

~

 

Logic dictates that this should make things complicated. One of them inevitably will become jealous and ruin whatever they have with the other person. One of them; Quinn usually imagines it as Santana or herself because the idea of it being Brittany that gets jealous of them just inflates her ego too much.

Except somewhere in the midst of Brittany kissing her then Santana dragging her into one of the music booths in Schuester’s, the complication forgets to arrive. If anything things get easier. A flow is established that only the three of them seem to subject themselves to.

Santana coaxes Brittany to Mercedes’ house in the absence of parental figures to help Quinn study for her next Spanish test. Brittany doesn’t speak a word of the language and Santana has never been able to keep from distracting her to let Quinn study anyway.

A system arises that works for them. Or works well enough until Quinn gets too frustrated at the sight of Brittany and Santana kissing in front of her as a reward for each correct answer.

That’s as far as Quinn goes with Brittany, just kissing, because she’s never been as strong as Santana. Maybe not yet anyway.

Needless to say Quinn’s face is bright red when she brings back the perfectly scored Spanish quiz to show Mr and Mrs Jones.   
~

 

It’s a learning curve for all of them.

One night Santana somehow bribes her family to leave and invites Quinn round. Brittany saunters from out of a bathroom wearing shorts and covering her chest with a towel. Quinn’s throat dries up and Santana smirks.

Kissing Brittany feels the same as it did the first time. A warmth of difference. No pressure. No edging towards something more. Quinn can feel in the gentle way Brittany cups her face and the light press of their lips together how much Brittany is wary of her. How careful of her emotions she is.

Santana watches her do this. Quinn pulls back from Brittany more often than not to see Santana’s fingers curled in the nearest fabric material with wide eyes. Quinn licks her lips and draws Brittany back into her.

Her lips are raw and stinging when night finally falls and sleep overcomes Brittany. Quinn smiles innocently for a second at the sight of this woman succumbing to slumber before her. The innocence soon leaves her with Santana’s wandering mouth as it trails to the need between her legs.

She tries to stay quiet. Desperately muffling her whimpers by biting the inside of her mouth. Nothing can silence the sounds they make involuntarily. Quinn can hear Santana devour her. She can feel the wetness on her thighs and the panting.

And with a chance turn of her head to the side she can feel Brittany’s wide eyes watching her writhe on the floor of Santana’s bedroom.

Quinn’s too shocked by her sudden spectator to even speak, and when she finds the words it’s too late. Santana’s tongue roughly brings her over and Quinn lets out a shrill cry.

Brittany’s face is predatory and in awe as Quinn arches her back and tightens her hands in Santana’s hair. As she rides out her orgasm, Quinn wonders when she started putting on such a show.

~

 

Brittany looks between the windows of the booth and to the people currently sitting in a circle inside it.

“I don’t know.” She debates. “That’s mean.”

Santana nudges Quinn in the side. Quinn coughs to hide the smirk on her face. Tina rolls her eyes at the both of them and Artie, from his taller place in his wheel chair, waves his hand in the air.

“It’s a dare.” Artie informs like there’s no excuse.

They’re playing truth or dare with a teacher, Quinn muses; ‘What is life?’

Brittany groans and rubs her hands over her face. With a long sigh she lifts herself up from her position on the floor next to Quinn.

“I cannot believe I’m doing this.” Brittany mutters.

“As if you didn’t do this in high school.” Santana retorts sneering at Brittany’s protest. Brittany looks down on her, and Quinn by default, with a brilliant smile.

“Oh please.” Brittany side-steps Artie and pushes open the door to the booth. “I was so much worse in high school.”

Quinn is pretty sure that Santana’s mind flashes to every encounter they’ve had with Brittany in the past month - including the impromptu sleepovers, the strip-studying, the handsy-affection and a bunch of other things Quinn herself hasn’t been privy to (like the sex) - and it short-circuits her brain.

Brittany takes her silence as a victory and walks out of the booth.

There’s a mad scramble between the inhabitants of the booth to prop themselves by the windows. Artie wheels himself into the door-frame while Tina blocks Quinn between herself and Quinn. Again in the middle.

There’s deadly silence until Brittany finishes her walk around the empty store by approaching Finn at the counter, lifting up her shirt and flashing him.

It lasts all of three seconds but it still takes Brittany half running back into the booth for Finn’s brain to register how much of Brittany’s body he’s just seen.

Santana cheers when he falls over behind the counter in shock and Brittany sends her a smile only for Quinn. Despite the weirdness of it all, Quinn hasn’t felt in awe of someone older than her for a while.

She misses looking up to someone like Brittany.

~

 

They even go to a movie one time.

Quinn gets there with Santana in tow to watch the trailers and secure the best seats at the back. Brittany shows up as the lights dim for the film wearing hip hugging jeans and a jacket that Quinn wants her to put over her shoulders.

She, like the characters coming up on the big screen, wants that moment of high school cliche.

Brittany wordlessly slides the jacket off and lowers into the seat next to Quinn. A sultry gaze is flashed in Santana’s direction over Quinn and her popcorn.

The movie is some badly scripted teen comedy that Quinn won’t remember watching when it’s over because three minutes in Brittany places fingers on her jaw, tilts her head and kisses her.

It’s obviously a signal of some warped kind because the next thing she knows Santana is discreetly popping the buttons on her jeans and Brittany is throwing her jacket over Quinn’s lap and Santana’s head, which is now positioned between her legs.

Quinn’s unexpected yelp at Santana tugging off both her jeans and underwear to her ankles is thankfully hidden by the rest of the ordinary movie-goers laughing at what’s happening on screen.

Laughing is now the last thing on Quinn’s mind. She doesn’t remember the name of the movie or any of the actors that starred in it. She’s too busy trying to silence the most intensely difficult orgasms of her life while Santana eats her out under Brittany’s jacket.

Brittany holds her hand and gasps in her ear whenever Quinn squeezes her fingers. She’s cumming in a ridiculous amount of time yet it doesn’t end there.

If anyone asks her after ‘Did you enjoy the movie?’ they could probably tell by her flushed face and wayward hair.

Quinn spends the ride home laughing as Santana picks popcorn out of her jeans.

~

 

Brittany isn’t always there. She still has classes to teach. Quinn and Santana still have classes to attend.

The ones Santana doesn’t ditch anyway.

Quinn drops the homework Santana didn’t collect from her History class today on the girl’s stomach. Santana splutters and almost drops the cigarette she’s smoking.

“Fuck Q.” Santana shifts and lets the papers fall off her stomach. Grunting she discards the sunglasses she’s wearing to turn to her. “Q...”

Quinn crosses her arms over her chest. Santana doesn’t seem distracted by the unimpressed look on her face or the threat of beratment in the air. Quinn sighs and sees how Santana’s eyes trail her body wantonly.

Quinn’s dressed for gym class.

“I will never get tired of seeing you in knee-highs.” Santana observes her legs. Quinn shifts awkwardly.

“You’d see more of them if you actually turned up.” Quinn argues and pulls on the end of her shirt. It’s too small and hold onto her body in a way she hates, though Santana loves.

Santana scoffs at the annoyed look on her face. “Don’t give me that crap Q. Gym doesn’t miss me and I don’t miss it. You know I get plenty of exercise.”

Eyebrows are waggled and cheeks turn red.

Quinn clears her throat. “Unfortunately I don’t pass out credible marks for that class.”

At this Santana stubs out her cigarette in a makeshift ashtray; the door. “You wound me Q. I’m a total ten.”

Quinn can’t help the small smile that Santana’s confidence brings. There are no other eyes on them today. Finn is dawdling in the back of the store, thus not following her like a puppy for the first time in weeks, leaving them unwatched.

Quinn realizes this just as Santana does and slinks to her knees in front of Santana. Silently Santana clears the homework assignments into a pile and opens her legs for Quinn to crawl between. Sex does cross her mind for a brief second but the charge in Quinn’s body that would usually arise to take advantage of the moment is dulled.

Santana doesn’t pull at her shirt or her shorts either. Arms skim over Quinn’s back. Skin occasionally catches but doesn’t spark so easily.

“Hey.” Quinn softens. Santana draws her in to lay on top of her. Quinn isn’t worried about Santana complaining about the weight of her body pushing on her.

Smoke still hangs in the air and gives away just how long Santana has been sitting alone listening to ‘Taking Back Sunday’.

“Hi.” Santana drawls out. The greeting sends a shiver down her, goosebumps appear on her arm and Santana manages a bigger smirk when Quinn presses their chests together.

Quinn rolls her eyes and stares at Santana’s lips. “Why were you wearing sunglasses inside?”

Santana shifts onto her elbows to see her better. Quinn finds herself studying Santana’s face. There’s no trace of frustration or anger or worry. Her jaw isn’t clenched and there are no indentations in her bottom lip. She’s relaxed.

“To look cool.” Santana reasons. Quinn’s gaze flickers to the her girlfriend’s eyes and sees just how caught up in Quinn’s closeness she is herself.

“I think you’re cool without them.” Quinn blushes under Santana’s scrutiny reveling in the newness in the encounter.

“Yeah?”

Quinn nods. Santana picks up the discarded glasses and uses one hand to push them towards Quinn’s face. No eyes are poked out as Quinn accepts them.

The darkness falls on her vision but nothing blinds the tinge of hunger in Santana’s eyes.

“Cool?” Quinn asks.

Santana shakes her head and pushes her hand along Quinn’s neck. “Hot.”

Quinn finally kisses her, expecting things to snowball and for Finn to end up being flashed again, but it doesn’t. Languidly Santana brings her further into her body. They’re touching all over yet she feels that lack of pressure again. That total reassurance that there’s nothing expected in the kiss. Ironically Quinn’s desire shoots.

“Hey, are you...” Quinn breathes heavily between slow kisses. “...still coming over tomorrow to help me and Mercedes with cleaning out the garage?”

Somewhere along the line of Santana practically living at the Jones’ she was given her own chore list. Quinn thinks this is hilarious.

Santana nods but her eyes are picturing kissing Quinn again. “Sure, the other Queerio going to be there?”

Quinn pecks Santana’s lips quickly. “Kurt is helping his Dad remodel his basement.”

Santana captures her lips before she can say anymore. The game they play is growing. “So that’s a no?”

“That’s a no.” Quinn pushes Santana backwards to lay down. Quinn doesn’t follow her.

Santana is naturally arched and waiting for her. Her body is warm and inviting and it belongs to Quinn.

‘Mostly.’ Quinn feels an unexpected twinge. ‘Mostly’

“What’s wrong?” Santana whispers. She tries to sit back up. Quinn shakes her head.

She can’t find anything wrong. She doesn’t want to find anything wrong.

“Nothing.” Like closing a book, Quinn follows Santana down. All she is, all that she wants, is right in front of her. “I love you.”

She doesn’t say it enough. The words are sweet on her tongue and sweeter to hear. Santana bumps their foreheads together and kisses her with everything she wants to feel.

“I love you too.”

Quinn promises Santana, silently, that she’ll say it more. Santana holds her close until hours later when Mr Schuester has to wake them up for closing time.

~

 

She’s having the dream again. The one that won’t go away because it’s a reality she’s experienced. A memory.

The pink walls of a bedroom surround her. Clean sheets touch her legs and bare feet. Kurt’s face smiles as he dips back into the nail polish.

Quinn hates this part. She just wants to pause the scene and tell Kurt to close the door. To tell him she’ll do her own nails.

It was as much an ordeal for him as well as her.

He’s singing along to the Beatles, stopping every once and a while to talk about his Dad or to concentrate on her nails. His are already a light pink.

Quinn feels herself shift in her sleep, she wants to wake up.

She doesn’t need to hear the words anymore to know what’s being said. She can see the blushes and the confessions and his knowing smile at the badly concealed hickey on her neck.

Santana. Quinn remembers telling him. Her playful tone matching the vibe of their early relationship. It’s only days since Rachel sparked Santana’s interest and brought them together. Rachel, who is long gone to New York to enjoy her victory.

There are happy seconds, she knows that - she remembers that, but the dream skips straight to the part were her mother is gasping at them both and asking Quinn to repeat what she said very carefully.

Kurt’s face is white, was white, whiter that usual. He’s not physically touched but her parents still recoil from him, suddenly realizing what he and Quinn had in common other than mutual friends.

Quinn wakes up suddenly in a cold sweat to the buzzing of her phone next to her ear.

She’s sleeping at Santana’s, a once in a blue moon event, sharing a single bed and flushed against her. Santana therefore wakes up as well.

“-ss, Q?” Santana jerks sleepily.

The images of her father’s blood red face and the terrifying race to shove things in a bag while he yelled at them both doesn’t disappear as fast as she hopes.

“Quinn?” Santana taps her cheek and pushes it to the side. Morning is breaking outside and the old curtains glow red. Santana is half asleep in her concern.

“I’m sorry.” Quinn reacts instantly. Santana’s face softens as she realizes. She’s witnessed them from the start. Stuck around, comforted her. Cared.

“It’s okay.” She kisses Quinn’s clammy cheek and reaches over to grab Quinn’s phone before it wakes up her younger sister, who sleeps through the buzzing.

Santana having to share a room is the reason they don’t spend too much time here, though it’s necessary when Quinn feels like she’s imposing on the Jones’ limited time with their eldest son, who’s room she’s taken over.

One day she won’t be hopping from house to house.

Quinn’s elbows tremble until she can’t support herself anymore. Sinking back into the pillow she almost misses Santana’s curse.

“What?” Quinn takes the phone from her and pushes the green call button for the withheld number.

“If I’m interrupting sex, carry on.” Comes a very familiar voice.

Quinn grins shakily, still recovering while Santana grunts and moves back to spoon Quinn from behind. “Shit-”

“Seriously Q-Q, I don’t mind-” Quinn hasn’t had a call in a while, she’s about due this one. “But seriously sluts, get dressed and meet me at Schue’s.”

“The bitch is back.” Quinn mutters in a friendly awe, leaning back into Santana’s grumbling form.

“You bet she is.” Rachel’s sultry voice announces.

~

 

Santana had tried to beg off and let Quinn leave the warm confines of their shared single bed alone.

The fact they’re now both walking with a subdued quickness shows who won.

There’s a tentative smile on her face that Quinn can’t shake. Visits from Rachel are very few and very far between. It’s been about a year and a half since the last time the rebellious lead singer strolled back into town.

It’s been weeks since the last call from her even. Santana pinches her side affectionately, acknowledging Quinn’s eagerness to see their absent friend.

The term friend is used lightly. Rachel isn’t around enough to fulfill the usual friendly duties, and even when she is Quinn feels like they’re on different levels. A level that Quinn feels like she’s recently ascended to.

Rachel is a bit like Brittany.

“Like hell she is.” Santana scoffs at her. Quinn frowns. “There’s no way she’s close to being that tall.”

“I didn’t mean that, I mean-” Quinn can’t describe it. Rachel, the girl in reality and in her mind, is a huge figure; despite her short stature. A voice that doesn’t belong from such a tiny body is backed up by a presence that Quinn used to envy, before Santana.

“Yeah, yeah. Quiet down, she’ll probably hear you complimenting her.” Santana mutters something about freakish hearing and Quinn rolls her eyes.

Rachel has always managed to grate Santana the wrong way. Mostly through her harmless flirting with Quinn, and then that one drunken time with Santana, that never failed to bring some green eyed anger to her.

Quinn bumps her shoulder into Santana’s arm with amusement. Rachel is the only person Quinn knows that can make Santana go on the defense - where Quinn is concerned of course.

“Wonder what’s brought her back...” Quinn wonders aloud.

“Shelby’s probably gotten sick of her.” Santana says almost gleefully before realizing that would entail Rachel moving back in with her dads. “Shit.”

“Shut up.” Quinn laughs. She tugs at the sleeve of Santana’s red ‘Buffy’ shirt, briefly smiling over the fact she’s worn it before, and smiles when Santana finally puts her arm around her shoulders. “She’s probably just visiting them for a few days, or something.”

She hears a grumbling to her response and continues. “At least she’s alive S.”

Santana gives her shoulder a squeeze but doesn’t say anything. Though she’d hate to admit it, Santana had freaked out as much as the rest of them when the news spread around school that Rachel had dropped out and fled to New York.

Quinn can still remember grabbing her girlfriend’s hand and listening blindly to Mr and Mr Berry explain where Rachel had gone. It was only a few months after Quinn had been kicked out, a time when everything seemed to be shattering and leaving her.

It had taken a few days for her to stop hating Rachel for not telling her that she was going to go. Even longer for her to stop blaming Jesse, Rachel’s boyfriend, or Shelby; Rachel’s surprisingly rich mother in New York, for the girl’s departure.

That’s how Rachel supports herself, Quinn’s learnt. Her band; ‘Barbara and The Streisends’ does quite well for itself, but anything more is funded by Shelby and the odd barista jobs Rachel picks up.

In some ways Quinn gets it. There was no way sticking in school was ever going to cut it for Rachel. Not Born-to-perform-Berry. The same way Lima isn’t going to cut it for Quinn and Santana after graduation.

So Quinn treasures the phone calls and the sparse visits, because Rachel is living her dream.

“I don’t believe it-” Santana cracks into a wide smirk. “I don’t think the short stack has grown at all.”

Quinn squints to the distance. Standing in front of Schuester’s, no taller than Quinn had seen her at fifteen, is Rachel Barbara Berry.

“I think you’re right.” Quinn laughs in agreement. Her bubbling sound causes the girl in the distance to turn in their direction.

“Don’t think I can’t hear you two!”

Quinn bursts out laughing louder.

“Berry’s in the house!”

Quinn doesn’t restrain her pace any longer. She frees herself from Santana’s arm with a smile and runs forward towards Rachel.

Her steps on the sidewalk are loud for the early morning. Rachel doesn’t move, content to let Quinn come to her. She really isn’t any taller than she last saw her.

She’s better dressed, Quinn observes. The last outfit Quinn had seen her is was a mini-skirt that Quinn couldn’t even acknowledge as as piece of clothing. Black tights with a dark denim skirt, boots, and a hoody with the name of a university that Quinn knows for a fact she’ll never attend.

All of that is blurred though when Quinn finally gets close enough to pull the girl off her feet. Embarrassing her by twirling her around off the floor.

Rachel kicks her legs into her shins demanding; “Unhand me you plaid loving-”

“Don’t insult the plaid Berry!” Santana calls from afar jokingly. Quinn hangs on tighter, spinning until Rachel’s legs stop kicking her and her arms fall around her neck in a faux-hug.

“Where the hell have you been Berry?” Quinn exclaims when she finally puts Rachel back on her feet.

Santana immediately comes behind her and grabs Rachel in a loose headlock to mess up her hair. “Santana!”

“Say mercy!”

“Fucking mercy!”

Sometimes Quinn wonders why they deny being friends.

“You haven’t even grown yet, shrimp.”

“I see you haven’t gained any manners since I left either?”

Nostalgia, Quinn has buckets of it.

“But to get back to the topic in question, Quinn.” Rachel’s brown eyes are as round and starry eyed as she remembers. “I think the correct line of questioning should be, where haven’t I been?”

“You’re so dramatic.” Santana groans rubbing her head.

“C’mon.” Quinn can’t keep the happiness off her face. “I think we’ve got some catching up to do.”

~

 

“You got arrested?” Santana spits out. If Quinn didn’t know any better she’d think Santana sounded jealous.

Rachel smirks triumphantly from the bench. Schuester wasn’t entirely pleased when Quinn called him to ask if he could open up early, that is, until he heard Rachel’s voice in the background. He’d never been able to say no to her.

Probably because, Quinn thinks, he’d had a major crush on her mom. Not that she’d ever voice this to Rachel aloud.

“It was just a case of mistaken identity.” Rachel feigns dramatically. She’s eating the attention up.

“Mistaken clothes more like it.” Santana groans trying to get the image out of her head.

Quinn laughs. “How the heck did you manage to get arrested for indecent exposure? Wait,” Quinn remembers what she’d thought about Rachel’s clothing previously. “I can actually see why. How do I thank the NYPD for this?”

“Oh, ha ha Quinn. My skirts are not that short.” Rachel defends. Quinn smirks however when Rachel adjusts her sweatshirt underneath her. “And I happened to forget that I spent the night outside and not, rather, in the safety of mine and Jesses’ apartment.”

Quinn sees red. “You slept outside in New York City? Do you want to be killed?”

“If anything it would have been dramatic.”

“I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”

Santana tugs the ends of Quinn’s hair and presumably, from the short cry of pain Rachel emits, kicks her in the shin. “And you complain about me annoying her, jeeze Q. If she wants to strip off in public let her.”

“It wasn’t intentional!”

Quinn rubs her head. “So did they actually cuff you?”

She immediately wants to retract the question when Rachel raises a flirty expression. “They did actually.”

“Did not need that mental image.” Santana looks to the ceiling of the music booth. It’s blackened slightly from the smoking that’s taken place in there over the years.

“Jealous Santana?” Rachel twirls a lock of hair around her fingers.

“Of you getting arrested before me? Slightly.” Quinn pokes Santana in the side. A flash of ‘Its-a-pride-thing’ is her response. “Of the cops having to see your naked ass? No way.”

“I’ll have you know that several of the off-”

“Okay! Cutting that one off there.” Quinn signals with a wave. “Let’s move on from nakedness-”

“Is this because I interrupted you both this morning?” Rachel asks thoughtfully. “I do apologize but really I wouldn’t have minded you carrying on.”

Santana glares. “Every time I think that she can’t get more annoying, she does.”

“I love you too Santana.”

The small stress of the banter between them all fades as Quinn realizes how stupidly funny this whole situation is. Rachel is actually back in Lima.

“This is insane.” Quinn smiles with teeth, letting the other girls know that joking aside, she’s happy to see everyone. “When did you get back?”

Rachel seems to settle at this. Relaxing against the wall and lazily letting her eyes drift to Quinn and Santana on the floor. It’s comfortable being curled up against Santana like this, even with Rachel’s warm eyes on them. She’s the one that brought them all together in reality.

“Last night.” Rachel confesses, leaving her melodrama on the back burner. “Shelby thought it would be best for me to stay away from the watchful eyes of the boys in blue for a while. Preferably in another state.”

“So she hasn’t kicked you out?” Santana ventures curiously. Rachel shakes her head.

“Certainly not. As a matter of fact she’s considering moving within New York to be closer to me and Jesse.” Rachel looks mildly pleased at this fact. “Her busy schedule would certainly be relieved as we’re in close proximity to her offices and various other outlets.”

Quinn sighs a little. “She’s not just doing it because she misses seeing you I suppose?”

Rachel softens, like she hadn’t wanted to assume that was the case. “Perhaps.”

“So you’re still with Jesse then?” Santana interrupts. “And the band?”

Rachel instantly brightens. Quinn, despite her initial reservations about Rachel dating a boy who was almost as effeminate as Kurt, had warmed to Jesse. There had been set-backs, such as when they’d practically eloped to New York without warning, but he’d been good to her; as far as Quinn knew.

They’d formed their band, saved money, he’d found them an apartment. Even though it was cheap and had practically no phone or internet within a mile of it. He was Rachel’s constant. She was happy with him.

“Well as you last heard we’ve been living in the apartment for a year now, and although I desperately want to move to somewhere...cleaner, I am perfectly content to sacrifice this to keep our current work load at it’s peak.” Rachel explained.

“The band is okay then?” Quinn asked again, hoping for a straightforward answer.

“The band is doing fantastic.” Rachel’s chest puffed out. “Barbara and The Streisends may even be going into a recording studio at some point during the summer.”

“That’s great!” Quinn gushes as Santana merely rolls her eyes. Pessimistic as always.

Rachel doesn’t catch onto this and further explains that Jesse had been working steadily in nearby studios, cleaning not actually helping to record, but nevertheless his persistent dogging of the producers there had given them an in.

“But...” Rachel sighs out. Quinn doesn’t like the sound of this. “Enough about me. New York is boring me right now, what’s been happening here? Hows school?”

Ignoring the patronizing tone in which Rachel asks Quinn smiles lightly. There’s a lot to be explained and she doesn’t really know where to start. “Things have been...different.”

“You’re intriguing me Quinn, not that you don’t in general.”

Santana mumbles something threatening under her breath.

“Things have been good here. We’ve got exams in a few weeks. Mercedes and Kurt are still on the Cheerios-” Quinn looks to Santana to take over.

“We’re still getting shit from most of the population of this town.” Santana shrugs. Rachel’s eyes darken.

“One of these days...” She sounds eerily like Santana. “What about Tina? Artie? Finn?”

At this Quinn laughs. “Really? Finn?”

Rachel blushes uncharacteristically. “Oh please...”

“Oh please what?” Santana eggs. “Don’t tell me she’s-” She looks at Quinn.

Quinn shakes her head. “You weren’t here last time. You should’ve seen the way she looked at Finn. Very schoolgirl crush of her.”

Rachel looks mortified. “Quinn!”

Santana leers a little and rubs behind Quinn’s neck. The gesture goes unnoticed by Rachel, who’s still spluttering over Quinn’s words. “Embrace it Berry. We’re all friends here.”

“Likely.” Rachel groans.

“We won’t hold it against you if you want a little Finnocence on the side of your Jessica.” Santana continues. Quinn slaps a hand to her mouth. It wasn’t funny. Really.

Rachel tosses an empty cigarette packet at Santana’s forehead. It rebounds off the window instead, hitting Quinn’s leg before falling back to the floor. Rachel was never any good at gym.

“Jesse is more than enough for me.” Rachel convinces. A lewd smile rises on her face. “However, Quinn, if you ever felt the need-”

“Not going there Berry.” Santana suddenly cuts her off. “We’re fully booked.”

Quinn suddenly flushes at the realization that they’re not just talking about Rachel flirting with them. Her spluttering expression ignites a curiosity in Rachel that can’t be deterred.

“I see.” She tilts her head. “I wouldn’t happen to be missing anything would I?”

Santana shifts but doesn’t answer. Why does it always fall to Quinn?

She groans and Rachel’s face lights up like a Christmas tree, or whatever the Jewish version of one is. “I knew it!”

“What?” Quinn asks. Surely there hasn’t been any mention of it elsewhere?

“Not specifically - but there’s someone else on this sapphic train isn’t there?” Rachel looks ecstatic. “It’s Tina right? Totally.”

Santana’s laugh echoes through Quinn’s back. “No freaking way.”

“S,” Quinn taps her knee. “Tina is attractive.”

“Tina couldn’t handle all this.” Santana motions.

“She has a valid point.” Rachel concludes. “Well if it’s not Tina, it won’t be Mercedes. We’re moving away from the line of friends here aren’t we?”

“Getting warmer.” Quinn offers.

“It’s not a boy is it? Because that’s too different from when I last left you.”

Santana flips her off.

“Okay then. Is it anyones’ mom?” Rachel guesses. A coughing fit overtakes Quinn. “No moms, got it.”

Santana rubs Quinn’s back while her coughing dies out.

“They’re older though aren’t they?” Rachel’s eyes wanders around the music booth, and then out of the window into the rest of the store. Her face goes white with mild terror. “Oh please say it’s not Terri Schuester.”

“It’s not Terri Schuester.” Santana and Quinn reply with mild disgust.

Rachel fans her face in relief. “Thank God, that woman is batshit insane.”

“Quiet.” Quinn hisses. Schuester is still opening up somewhere. “If he hears you then somehow it’s gonna get back to her. And she happens to still be my teacher.”

Rachel giggles to herself for a second before realizing that neither Quinn or Santana share her carelessness towards Terri Schuester. Then she picks up on the silent nudge that Santana passes to Quinn over the last word.

“Hold up.” Rachel, Quinn predicts, calls upon something akin to instant replay in her mind to listen to Quinn’s intonation. “No shit.”

Quinn’s back straightens. A light bulb would be shining over Rachel’s head if it could.

“Teacher.” Rachel points at them in un-mistaken awe. “You’re fucking a teacher. Both of you?”

Quinn leaps from her place between Santana’s legs to throw a hand over Rachel’s mouth. “Jeeze Rachel! Do you want Schuester to hear you!?”

Santana mimes something that Quinn can’t see over her shoulder and Rachel raises her hands in surrender. “Shoot me, whatever - who knew my kids would ever get up to this much trouble?”

Quinn’s face burns at Rachel’s old nickname for them. Santana glares deeper at being referred to as one of Rachel’s ‘kids’.

It had come about after they’d grudgingly admitted to Rachel they were together, and she’d worked out that it had been because of her timely comment.

They’d been her ‘kids’ ever since.

“Damn.” Rachel pushes up her fringe and sighs. “How the hell did this happen? And with who? I mean, I leave you alone for a year and a half-”

“It was unexpected.” Quinn injects. Santana doesn’t offer another comment.

“But she’s a teacher right?” Rachel presses. Quinn can see now why Santana didn’t want to say anything. Rachel isn’t going to give up until she’s found out everything. Quinn resigns herself to the inevitable.

“She’s a dance teacher.” Quinn lets out. A rush of relief follows. “Her name is Brittany.”

Santana breathes out behind her like she’s thinking of Brittany, the last time they saw her, now.

Rachel hums to herself. “She sounds fuckable already.”

“Berry.” Santana warns.

“Go on.” Rachel waves her hand. “Where’d you pick her up?”

Quinn grins because in reality it’s the randomest thing ever. Now that she thinks about it. “The library?”

“Check you out.”

“Literally.”

Rachel nods to Santana. “Input here S? I know you have a way with words.”

Santana grumbles for effect but obliges Rachel with details of Brittany’s blond hair, her skin, her height (she holds that over Rachel longer than necessary) and several other details that Quinn blushes at because she hasn’t experienced them yet.

Rachel looks thrilled. “So this thing? It’s permanent? Or are you guys just in for her ride?”

Quinn takes a step back in her mind. She’s never really thought about it like that before. They’ve never had to confront the issue of what will happen after school, after Lima, with Brittany. Mostly because they don’t talk about school, other than the occasional mentions of Quinn’s homework, not Santana’s because Santana never talks about school.

She doesn’t know what to say and for once Santana steps in.

“Let’s not ruin a good thing Berry.” She casually tosses. “We’ve still got all summer.”

“Swimsuit season is coming up. I’ve seen enough dancers to envy you right now.” Rachel teases. Quinn’s mind is banished of anything but the images of Santana and Brittany in bikinis.

“Jealous Berry?” Santana finally lords.

“Concerned and a little green eyed.” Rachel tweaks jokingly but steadily glances at Quinn to let her know that she’s thinking more deeply about this than she’s letting on.

“We’re okay.” Quinn reassures. “Brittany is...she’s good to us. She’s good for us.” she stresses. She hasn’t felt that strange barrier between herself and Santana for months. Even if it’s been replaced by a smaller one between herself and Brittany. She’s working through that.

“She better be or,” Rachel flexes her non-existent biceps. “Say the word Q and I’ll come guns a blazing.”

“With clothes I hope.” Santana taunts.

“I’ll never live this down with you will I?” Rachel fondly asks. Santana finally eases into her presence and laughs without hidden meaning.

Quinn leans back into Santana’s chest with a warmth in her body. Rachel is home, at least, for a little while. Things couldn’t be better.

 

~

 

Mercedes has been watching Santana carefully ever since letting her into the room. Quinn knows why, if the situation were reversed she’d have a hard time letting anyone see Mercedes in such a state.

Her hair is in disarray and her dress is hanging off one shoulder. She looks like she’s been beaten up save the lack of bruises or wounds. It’s all in her head.

They keep going round in a circle. If Quinn’s eyes tear up anymore she’ll start to think Brittany is there with them too.

“She adores you.” Santana sounds foreign to her. The word ‘adore’ doesn’t slip as easily from her lips as others. It just shows her how much Santana wants her to believe that. How much she believes it herself.

Mercedes sees the need for their privacy and slips out of her room.

Quinn’s eyes are fixed on Santana’s collar. Moving her gaze stings too much. “She’s careful with me.”

Painstakingly so. For every languid caress and careless kiss Brittany bestows on Santana, there are delicate touches and heedful embraces given to Quinn. Like Brittany is holding her as she would hold glass.

“Are you saying you want her to be rough with you?” Santana would usually add a spin to her words but the sadness in Quinn’s face stops her. “What’s happened?”

Insecurity finally falters and Quinn’s perfectly composed mask crumbles piece by piece. Today has just been too much.

“Are you going to leave me for her?”

Santana’s face disappears from her vision in a wave of blackness created in her own mind. Vicious words remind her exactly what everyone said would happen.

‘...and then after she’s corrupted you she’ll leave-’

“-you, I’d never do that. Never.” Santana’s distraught expression hurts Quinn. A part of her weeps at how she can even question it. She loves Santana. “I love you so much.”

Quinn chokes on tears.

“It’s insane how much I lo-”

‘ She doesn’t love you. She’d be a fool to ever grow attached to someone like-’

“Is this really about Brittany?” Santana holds Quinn’s face in her hands. “She’s second to you. Always, I’m sorry I didn’t-”

‘ Lesbian sluts-’

Quinn’s eyes burn. She can’t block it out.

“-I’m not leaving you.”

She screws her eyes up. She can’t stand to hear Santana’s pleading reassurance in one ear and the violent condemning phrases of her past in the other. She hasn’t remembered this for years. Why now? Why?

Her heart pounds. Her ribs hurt. Santana’s palms on her cheeks burn and catch the tears that fall.

“Quinn.” Santana pulls her into reality with her name. She doesn’t have long, she can feel herself willing to be dragged back into the angry voices. “What happened today?”

Say it.

“I-”

Say it.

“-saw-”

Her words morph into the scene of the afternoon right up until Mercedes came and saved her. Santana listens. It’s not really about Brittany, it’s not even really about Santana. It’s Quinn’s life.

 

Quinn hooks one foot behind the other as she stands counting how much money she has in her purse. The items in her basket roll joyfully from one side to the other as her hands rummage for coinage.

A giggling laugh comes to the side of her. On looking Quinn spies a small blond girl, no older than four, standing a little way from her watching her curiously.

She’s laughing at the noise the things in Quinn’s basket are making and the innocence in the exchange makes Quinn smile.

It’s stupid to daydream about things like this but Quinn has always wondered, if she ever had children and if Santana ever said yes (because she always imagines these things with Santana), what her own children would look like.

Quinn would no doubt be the one carrying their imaginary child because there’s no way Santana would.

They would no doubt have blond hair. Quinn feels selfish though, because she’d rather they didn’t. She’d rather they inherit Santana’s hair and her tan skin and her fire for life. Maybe just keep Quinn’s lust for learning and passion for kindness.

The nameless blond girl clasps her hands together and tries to stop smiling. Like she’s been told it’s rude to laugh at strangers.

Quinn’s smile dampens. She gets laughed at by strangers all the time. Kids at school who disapprove of her relationship with Santana. Adults who disapprove or used to see her at church as a child. Anyone who knew that she’d been kicked out of her home when she was twelve.

Concern floods her. In her mind she takes in this small girl and wishes her well. She hopes that she’ll grow up with loving parents, accepting friends and with the fortune that Quinn has never had.

She hopes the girl never has to face what she has.

She misses the sound of someone calling the girl back but smiles when she’s waved at. Her search for her money is stunted as the tapping of the girl’s shoes takes over her attention. The four year old runs down to the end of the aisle and into the arms of her parents.

Quinn feels sick.

Her palms sweat and her basket almost drops from her arm because there’s no doubt in the world that everything she’s just wished for that little girl isn’t coming true.

Quinn is looking at her sister.

She has a sister.

Her parents don’t look at her directly. They wouldn’t lower themselves to. Her mother wraps her arms protectively around the little girl and smiles when she hugs her back.

Quinn can’t breathe. She has a four year old sister.

She hasn’t been apart of the Fabray family since she was twelve but there’s an overwhelming feeling of replacement in watching the scene that makes her want to breakdown.

The items in her basket stop moving because Quinn stops moving. They’re pushing their food trolley towards her end of the aisle. She doesn’t know why.

Is it to say something to her? Is it to parade this family in front of her? Fear consumes her and she’s shaking with every step her father and her mother, and her sister now take towards her.

She can’t see them looking but she can feel the disapproval radiating from them. They can see the way she’s dressed and Quinn thanks her own decision, somehow in her sickly nerves, that she’s wearing a sundress and has foregone any form of jeans or dirty shoes.

She looks exactly as they’d left her.

Her father purposely steers their trolley as far away from her as possible. It’s nothing that she hasn’t encountered before. It’s the way he keeps his eyes straight, the same as her mother, and looks through her as if she doesn’t exist.

She exists. Quinn wants to shout. She wants to confront them and make them see her. Their daughter. In some vague and distant and blood form she is their daughter.

Her composure is running on pent rage that she knows won’t last into real anger but will take her down in the end.

The physical blow comes when her sister who knows nothing, who probably doesn’t even know who Quinn is or of her relation to her, turns to look over her mother’s shoulder and waves with a small baby-like hand.

She’s smiling so freely and happily at this stranger who’s basket made funny noises.

The aftershock knocks the wind out of her body.

“Don’t wave Beth.” Comes Judy Fabray’s threatening tone.

Her sister’s name is Beth.

Beth drops her hand but doesn’t turn her eyes away from Quinn, somehow sensing sadness from this stranger she’s passed.

Quinn waits until they’ve turned around the corner before falling. Her knees give way and onlookers gasp as she’s reduced to choking sobs in the middle of the store. People seem wary to approach her, out of knowledge or indifference.

She’s slowly starting to let herself breathe properly when a store manager asks if she needs him to call anyone.

She calls Mercedes.

 

Santana shakes with her. Speechless and angry.

Quinn cries silently, pulling Santana into her. She can’t look at her girlfriend’s face without reliving the day she turned up at Santana’s house with only the clothes on her back.

She had to watch back then the livid fury on her recent girlfriend’s face, listen to her curses and threats, having to hold her as well as Santana’s father back from going to straighten things out.

Her mind drifts to wonder why she never knew her parents had another child. She already has an older sister. No one told her. No word or rumor or gossip ever reached her about this.

“They were wrong back then.” Santana starts. The words come through gritted teeth. “They’re wrong now. They’re fucked up in the head Q.”

Quinn keeps holding on.

“They can’t even imagine how much I love you, I fucking do.” Santana kisses her neck because she can’t move away from Quinn long enough to do anymore. “And no one, not your parents, not this school, this town- not Brittany-”

“S-”

“Is ever going to change that.” Santana’s breath is hot against her skin. “You’re mine Q.”

“I’m yours.” Quinn can believe in that.

~

 

Quinn wakes up tangled in Santana’s limbs at an undisclosed hour. There’s darkness around her and no indication of any kind of morning.

She’s awake because she can hear someone calling her name and talking to her. She doesn’t stir too much but Brittany is knelt and leaning against the bed she’s spread on so she knows Quinn is awake.

“Hey.”

Quinn thinks that visiting her in the middle of the night warrants more than a ‘hey’.

“Hi.”

Brittany bridges the space between them and kisses her. It’s as she described. Careful and delicate. When Brittany pulls back she’s whispering again before Quinn can say anything.

“I’m sorry.” Brittany keeps her hand near to Quinn’s on the bed. “Santana talked to me before and- I didn’t know how you felt about this.”

“When?”

“You fell asleep first? Santana said something happened and that she wanted us all to talk but when I got here you were both asleep.” Brittany’s eyes waver over the shadow of Santana in the background, before coming back to Quinn.

In the back of her mind Quinn feels something is off.

“She didn’t say why you were upset. It wasn’t her place but I figured that I needed to talk to you about everything, about what’s been going on-”

About us. Quinn can hear what’s unsaid.

Their faces are close again like Brittany wants to leave no distance for her words to travel. It’s just between them.

“I know there’s a lot we need to talk about.” Her eyes flutter. “But I just want you to know that I don’t want to hurt you, I’ve never wanted that.”

Santana, Quinn thinks, what about Santana?

“I probably shouldn’t have ever- but you’re so sweet, Santana is wonderful. The both of you- I can hardly describe it. Your relationship with each other is something I’ve never seen before.”

“I love her.” Quinn states clearly.

“I know. And I want you to know that I’ve never tried to sway that or undermine that.”

Quinn wants to know why she’s so careful with her, not just because this whole relationship walks a dangerous edge. Not just because she’s a teacher.

“Why?” Brittany doesn’t answer yet but leans up and kisses her with an intent that Quinn hasn’t felt before. She feels swept into this motion and sudden passion that she almost moves off the bed.

“I don’t want to hurt you, you’re just so you-n-”

“You won’t hurt me.” Quinn affirms, still lost in the new way Brittany is holding her in. “You won’t hurt us, we’ve been through a lot.”

They can survive this.

Brittany smiles sadly. In the rush of feelings Quinn misses something. She misses what Brittany was trying to say before and what it meant.

Eventually she’s overwhelmed. Brittany stays to watch her fall back asleep.

~

 

It escalates after a few weeks. On a day that saw Quinn giggling at Santana trying to figure out Brittany’s camera while juggling a bottle of beer.

Brittany has her possessive hands around Quinn’s waist. A whisper of ‘come on, come on!’ to Santana and a polaroid picture.

Santana tosses each picture on the floor as she takes them. Quinn’s face is laughing and smiling, Brittany is glowing and inching closer until the photos are of them kissing. The aim of the shots gets continually shakier as Santana is either too tipsy or too distracted by the scene to keep her hands still.

The last picture is hidden underneath Quinn’s discarded shirt.

~

 

Quinn is dizzily tipsy and humming with heat whenever Brittany moves her hands.

“More.” Santana groans from behind and underneath her. Quinn pants and shifts on her lap as her girlfriend opens her legs further apart.

The exposing stretch flushes Quinn’s face red. She grinds down into Santana’s lap, eliciting an appreciating response. Brittany whispers that she loves it. She loves to see how red Quinn gets when she’s not in control - when other people are doing wicked things to her body.

Quinn remembers back to Santana relaying all of the dirty things Brittany had whispered to her on their first night and blushes more. She’s burning up.

There’s no real power play but Brittany thrusting into her, timely and deep, makes Quinn cry out like a little girl. Brittany’s hips slap against the inside of Quinn’s thighs.

Santana shudders against her ass; taking friction from Brittany’s motions.

Quinn can feel the lasting effects Brittany has already had on Santana. And how wet Brittany pumping into her is making her girlfriend.

“Un-” Quinn gasps. Santana’s hands tease at her nipples. Lips are against her throat.

Quinn feels stretched to her limit.

“-tight-” Brittany pants slipping her fingers against her clit for a brief second. Quinn whimpers and shivers as Santana groans louder. She looks down her body and sees Brittany switching her hands between the both of them.

The light doesn’t allow her to see much but there’s so much wetness on Brittany’s hands that Quinn can see it glistening off her.

“Both of you-” Brittany mindlessly drives again. Santana twitches uncontrollably underneath her sending shocks of pleasure up her spine.

Quinn pulls Brittany closer to kiss her. She tastes Santana on her tongue and forgets how long they’ve been doing this. How long Santana and Brittany have done this.

“Oh God-” Quinn hisses as Brittany’s fingers return to her.

“Take her Q, come on-” Santana ushers grasping tightly under her knees.

Quinn tries. Brittany arches up and moves her hips in time. Skin catching against each other with each movement. Quinn feels her legs stick to Brittany’s damp skin. Her gaze is taken over by well-defined abs and erect nipples. The cool air can’t catch her out because Quinn is too hot. She’s on fire from touches and new feelings.

Brittany sweeps down with her next thrust, fingers opening inside of her to Quinn’s shocked moan, and bites on her ear. She’s face to face with Santana for, what sounds like, a kiss. And then murmurs.

“You have no idea how much-” Brittany finds one of Santana’s hands and pulls it over Quinn’s stomach. “-Santana’s wanted this.”

Quinn arches up with a sudden rush of pleasure. She can feel how Brittany is keeping her on the edge. Not letting her come just yet.

Santana dips her hand down through blond curls and slips through Quinn’s drenched heat. She feels Brittany’s hand guide Santana.

“How much I’ve wanted this.” Brittany admits. Quinn is overcome with another blush. She’s red, so hot and violently flushed for Brittany and Santana. She feels it flood the white skin of her chest and further down.

Brittany wants her.

“S loves you spread open like this- don’t you S?” Brittany encourages. Santana’s free hand tightens on Quinn’s ass again.

“-fuck so much.” She pants to Quinn.

“-such an innocent looking-”

“-but really you love it, being so domin-”

“-say it Q, say it.”

“I need you-”

Quinn’s stomach feels so empty and hollow, unfilled with pleasure that’s being denied and prolonged. “B, just, can”

“Magic words Q.” Santana teases even in the desperation of the moment. She’s shaking and wanting, she needs-

Brittany’s eyes flash and pause and Quinn needs to come now.

“Please Brittany, please-” Her voice is small and whimpering. Brittany stumbles at the request for a second, that confuses, until Quinn can’t feel anything other than the convulsing her body makes against the two girls trapping her between them, and the expanding feeling in the tips of her toes.

“--uuck, oh, un,un, uh.” Quinn loses words and gasps. Brittany looks down on her in seeming wonder.

Santana kisses her neck hotly but Quinn can’t see anything other than the truth in front of her. She can’t remember why they hadn’t done this sooner.

“Q, you’re so-” Santana mutters and reaches to touch parts of her body that she hasn’t yet. Trailing Quinn’s come across her ribs.

Quinn has to close her eyes, she can’t handle how deeply Brittany is looking at her. As if realizing something for the first time. Because Quinn can’t bring herself to want to realize something too.

In ignorance she finds the bliss.

~


	5. Chapter 5

“Guess what I’m thinking?”

Quinn leans forward over her desk until her head rests against the cool wood of her library station. The front desk is empty and no one is coming up to check out books. On a normal day this would be fine with Quinn but-

“Is it anything to do with you studying history?” She asks hopefully below her.

Santana’s mock-disgust is what answers her.

“You don’t know me at all.”

Quinn can’t remember how Santana had convinced her to let her come to work with her. Missing a detention no doubt just to hide under the library desk Quinn has to attend for a few hours. There’s no need really, they’ve been together all week and Quinn is hyper-aware of how much studying Santana has actually done.

“Is it anything to do with sex?” She chances.

“Now we’re talking.”

“No we’re not, I’m working.” Quinn insists as she sees the predatory look in Santana’s eyes. It turns the heat up on things uncomfortably seeing as she’s still got another hour to work.

“You haven’t helped anyone in half an hour.” Santana practically sings this fact to her.

Quinn picks up a stapler from on the desk and absently staples some post-it notes together. “Glad to see you’ve been so attentively looking at your phone.”

Santana scowls and flips her phone out again. Quinn has seen her do this at least five times in the past twenty minutes.

“I’m waiting for Brittany to text back.”

Quinn sits up a little at the mention of Brittany’s name. “She still not answered?”

The last time Quinn saw her she was sticky and trapped between Santana and Brittany. Her fingers dig into the desk and she flushes getting caught up in the memory of the night. Her first time with Brittany.

It’s enough to make her want to drag Santana from under the desk and- but she has a job to do. One which she gets paid to do. And as much as she loves having sex, she isn’t paid for that.

“No, the last thing I got was that she was helping her mom shopping.” Quinn sneaks a glance down at Santana in her hiding place. “That was yesterday.”

“Then she’s no doubt working today.” Quinn goes back to stacking books on her desk to appear busy and to lessen the flashes of Brittany and Santana driving into each other from her mind. “No wonder she hasn’t text you.”

Santana puts her phone away. “Point taken.”

Quinn feels a curious gaze on her arm for several minutes. It makes it harder for her to forget the intense feeling of pleasure Brittany had given her. There are still bruises on her inner thighs from where Santana had stretched her legs open.

“What?” She says feeling out of breathe.

“You wanna know what I’m thinking now?” Santana asks differently this time. Her voice holds less playful meaning than before. The seductive enticement is on.

“Is it anything to do with sex?” Quinn guesses hesitantly.

“Yes.”

“Then no.” Quinn has to fight back a smirk at Santana’s frustrated groan.

“I’ve been hiding under your desk for hours, and you won’t even let me take advantage of that-”

“Working S.” Quinn reminds her, and herself because the image of Santana going down on her unbeknownst to the people in the library is almost too tempting.

“Take a break.” Santana smirks. Quinn remembers the last time she suggested that. “C’mon there’s a closet on the second floor that never locks-”

“How do you know that?” Quinn asks suspiciously.

Santana doesn’t reveal her secrets. “I’ll rock your world, and Sam won’t even see us this time.”

Stifling a sigh Quinn spares a thought for poor hair dye Sam. He’s probably scarred for life, or living the dream from the amount of times he’s accidentally walked in on them in various positions in the aisles.

“Please, or I’ll make you break in here after school so I can bend you over the desk.” Santana wiggles her eyebrows.

Quinn relents, switching off her computer and texting Sam to take over for her on the desk. “I thought I was the one bend you over the desk...” She mutters as Santana wickedly pulls her towards the staircase.

The closet is small but well-lit once they find a light. An ironic part of Quinn realizes that a full circle has come about. The library is where it started with Brittany. Where things started to slip before they could be repaired.

She doesn’t feel like anything is breaking anymore. Quinn bites on Santana’s lip and whimpers into her touch. Everything feels good.

Santana’s hand works its way under her skinny jeans to the lack of underwear underneath.

“I knew I’d forgotten something this morning.” Quinn moans into Santana’s ear.

 

~

 

Santana doesn’t attempt to hide how much she checks her phone after talking about it the library. The text from Brittany doesn’t come and Quinn has to talk Santana out of running them around to Brittany’s house to check up on her.

“She’s busy with her mom.” Quinn pleads as she tries to pry the phone out of Santana’s hand again.

“Too busy to answer me?” Santana snaps impatiently.

Quinn shrugs. “Maybe she’s at the hospital with her or something. S, just let it go for a while.”

Santana sighs loudly and forfeits the phone to her. Quinn pockets it and finally holds Santana’s hand. A couple strolling by them scoff at their affection. Quinn grits her teeth.

The mall is moderately busy for a weekend. People stand outside shops trying to coax them in with flyers and discounts. Quinn pats her empty pocket wistfully. Once they get out of here it’ll be a different story, but until then-

“Q-”

“No.” Quinn retorts pulling them from going into the food court just yet. “You’re not getting it back.”

Santana groans and spins around to get in front of Quinn. She walks backwards to her amusement. “Dangerous?”

Santana keeps going backwards. “You do realize I could fight you for it.”

“And risk me withholding sex?”

“As if you could withhold from me. Especially with your birthday coming up...” Santana quips making a grab for Quinn’s pocket. She misses.

“S! You’ll get us kicked out-” Quinn seethes and holds the phone in her pocket.

“Not like it hasn’t happened before-” Santana retorts and pulls at the end of Quinn’s jacket. It’s fake leather and too big for Quinn. But it’s comfortable.

Quinn growls and tightens her grip on the phone. “They’ve only just let us back in after you jumped in the fountain!”

Santana scrunches her forehead in confusion. “They don’t have a fountain here.”

“Not anymore.” Quinn proves her point.

“Whatever just-”

Quinn dodges out of the way of Santana’s next advance only to trap herself against a wall next to a corridor with only a fire exit as a way out. She is so not setting those alarms off.

Santana’s hand stills on it’s mission to retrieve her phone to assess the closeness between them. “Hey there.”

The ease in her voice is something Quinn hasn’t heard for her alone in a while. She blushes at the fake-southern twang Santana puts on. It’s far too polite and casual for someone who’s subtly pressing her thigh against her crotch suggestively.

Her large jacket covers the direction of Santana’s leg to the rest of the world. The nearest passing people, however, still scowl at them. Sometimes Quinn wonders how so many people recognize them or if they really just scream ‘gay-for-each-other’ whenever she’s with Santana.

“Hi.” She loves saying that. Especially to Santana. Just because she never wants to have to stop saying it. She never wants there to be a time she can’t just roll over or reach a hand out and say ‘hi’.

A smile reflects her secret thoughts. Quinn brushes her loose braid back behind her ear, bashfully looking at Santana, who in her thick heeled boots is taller than her today.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Santana teases.

Quinn rolls her eyes but plays along. It’s a welcome distraction from the phone fight. “Why, I’m just admiring the surroundings.”

“You seen any trouble in these surroundings?”

“Not that I know of but...” Quinn bites her lips. Santana has a side splitting smile on her face now. “...I was just being accosted by some vandal.”

“Vandal?” Santana sounds affronted. Quinn groans quietly as Santana presses into her. Deeper.

“She appeared to want something on my person but-” Quinn feels to check the phone is still safe in her pocket. “-she wasn’t successful.”

“As long as you’re okay.”

“I am now.” Quinn jokes with a flutter of her hand. The movement takes her trapped gaze away from Santana’s beaming face to her left. The expanse of the fire exit corridor is like an endless pit separating the wall she’s pushed against and the next store.

The darkness of the corridor appeals to her quickly when her joking facade disappears and she lays eyes on Brittany.

“Brit-” Quinn manages before Santana loses all sense of their banter and acknowledges her as well.

“Brittany.”

Horror flashes on Brittany’s face at being seen by them, despite how she hadn’t been subtle in her observation of them and is yet to move.

And when she does Santana is ready. Brittany turns from them, her wide eyes looking across the crowds surrounding her, looking to disappear in them.

Santana’s swift hand is upon her wrist, pulling Quinn and catching Brittany’s elbow with the right amount of leverage to stop her.

“S,” She whimpers and Quinn knows something is terribly wrong.

“Brittany, what the hell-?”

Quinn knows that someone is watching. Someone lurking in the anonymity of the groups of people walking by that is curious about them. Watching how Santana sidles up against Brittany in worry and thinking.

She twists her way out of Santana’s hold and rounds Brittany’s free side. “Here-”

They hide in the relatively unseen fire corridor, away from the rushing patrons, filled with emotions none feels comfortable sharing.

“Brittany what’s wrong?” Quinn exhales in a rush. She can’t get over how Brittany has just tried to get away from them.

Santana still holds onto her elbow with a possessive grip. “B, what happened?”

Quinn doesn’t understand the reasoning for Santana’s question until she looks up higher than where Santana is touching Brittany. From her covered elbow to her face. Her distraught and daunt face.

She gasps.

Brittany’s eyes are red and puffy. Thin and white cheeks with pale, chapped lips. She looks scared and sleepless. She looks ill.

“Brittany-”

“Stop, stop. I can’t talk to you.” Brittany begs off and silently pleads with Santana to let her go. It has the reverse effect.

“You can’t talk to us?” Quinn repeats. “What’s going on?”

“Is this about me texting you?” Santana asks, guilt with a hint of vulnerability flies out. “I just thought you were ignoring us-”

“I was!” Brittany exclaims. She slaps a hand over her mouth with a sob. Quinn sees tears in her eyes. “I have to. You have to let me go before-”

“Before what?” Santana echoes loudly. Hurt by Brittany’s affirmation. “Why did you ignore me?”

Quinn’s ears tweak with a tone. The tone in Brittany’s voice is something she’s heard before. “Britt, what’s going on? Why do you have to go?”

Brittany isn’t as cool or collected as she usually appears. She’s shaking before them without a defense to hide behind other than the shade of the corridor.

“Someone’s filed a complaint.” Brittany spews out. Tears follow. Quinn’s throat tightens. “Someone, at Carmel- I don’t know how-”

“Wait, a complaint?” Santana balks. “About what?”

The choking on her throat continues. Dread fills her lungs.

“A complaint about me, a case-” Brittany wrenches her arm from Santana as gently as possible. It still stings to see the shock on Santana’s face. “-sexual har-har-”

She can’t even say it.

“Sexual harassment?” The air is knocked from Quinn. “Sexual- with someone-”

Brittany shakes her head violently. “No, not at Carmel. Just you-” The last admission is almost silent and sob-filled.

Santana’s jaw is clenched but Quinn can see her strength failing her.

Brittany brings her hands up to her head. Rubbing at her red eyes, her face and around her neck. “Just us.” She tries to clear. “But someone knows, someone knew and they’ve-”

“We’re not Carmel students though.” Santana argues even though she hasn’t got a leg to stand on at this point.

“It doesn’t matter.” Quinn fires back. The fear is back. The tone in Brittany’s voice is one she remembers listening to, persuading against, before. “Cases like this, even in different schools- I’m not eightee-” She chokes off because Brittany’s face plummets further.

Santana lets out a frustrated growl. “What the hell?”

Brittany slumps against the wall, carefully staying out of sight. “I can’t be here. It’s not safe.”

It was never safe to begin with, Quinn counters to herself. Why did she ever think this was a good idea?

“Wait,” Santana stops Brittany from leaving just yet. “What’s happening? You have to tell us,”

Brittany shakes her head a little. “I can’t call you anymore. You can’t contact me.”

“What about the case?” Quinn interrupts. She knows there’s not enough time to figure this all out now. “If someone knows about us, and has filed this case against you; what happens now?”

“I’ve been suspended.” Brittany’s hands twitch together as if the result has already been determined. “Pending investigation.”

The feeling of being watched comes back with a powerful force.

“Investigation?” Santana mutters.

Brittany cries out quietly. “I can’t say anymore. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ever-”

“This isn’t your fault, this is-” Quinn stops short of admitting it to Brittany and her ‘please don’t’ face.

“I’m the adult-”

“Everything we’ve done,” Santana whispers. “It’s been consensual.”

Throwing caution to the wind Brittany fleetly wraps Santana in a crushing hug. Quinn watches out for anyone in the time. Letting Brittany do the same with a faint kiss brushing her neck. Feeling so much like a goodbye. They’re hidden in the shade.

“It doesn’t matter to them.” Brittany puts as much space as she can between them now. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

The rug has been pulled up from under them. Quinn’s hands burn from trying to push herself back up. She can’t imagine how Brittany feels.

She sees the tears in Brittany’s eyes and the desperation for them to get out of sight and Quinn tries to remember what Brittany had said to her on the day Quinn had seen her parents.

She can’t bring herself to put herself in those dancing shoes. To be told that someone has come forward with a complaint, a serious allegation of sexual abuse against a student. Maybe even two students.

And for Brittany to have to stand there, mid-lesson, and nod while the authorities were called and informed. To be suspended without warning. To have to go back home to her mother and explain why she’s not at work.

Quinn feels sicker than ever. Bile rises in her throat and the thin string that attached them to Brittany is pulled for the last time as the woman flees into the safety of the rushing swarm of shoppers.

In stillness Quinn shatters inside until Santana finds the last remains of her will power to fight their way out of the mall. How did this happen?

~

 

It’s all their fault.

It’s that same shattering feeling that she first experienced all those weeks ago when she thought Santana was going to leave her. It prickles her throat and sickness chokes her. Brittany is in the news. It’s their fault.

“S.”

Santana’s fist is planted into the wall. Unmoving. She’s trembling. Quinn isn’t the only one breaking.

“Santana.” She pleads with a shaking voice. She can’t shatter alone. She needs something to hold onto.

She needs Santana to calm down and sit down. To stop looking like she’s going to punch the wall again and completely destroy all of the tissue in her knuckles.

“We’re the reason she’s...” Santana grinds out. Quinn sees the flash of her gritted jaw. “How could we be so-”

“Stupid?” Quinn offers bitterly, feeling every bit as worthless and selfish as Santana looks.

“Reckless-” Santana replies. Still sounding like they weren’t doing anything wrong, really.

Quinn growls; “This isn’t something you can just label differently. Brittany is-”

“A teacher.” Santana’s hand flies away from the wall and grasps at her face. “I know that! I know!”

Quinn feels guilty instantly. They shouldn’t fight. Taking this out on each other isn’t the answer.

“I just don’t understand- fuck!” Santana shouts out. Quinn is thankful that the house is empty; with the Joneses out with Mercedes and only Quinn to witness the collapsing of a kind of era.

“What do you mean?” Quinn asks. Her cheeks move when she speaks and she can feel the stains of tears crack on her face.

“I just don’t understand how this- why now? What changed?” Santana looks desperately around Quinn’s room. Settling for the pillow on the bed Santana throws it harmlessly across the room. It hits the wall with a poof-ing sound.

“We got sloppy, someone found out, what else could it be?” Quinn reasons. She doesn’t know how. Everyone who knew the true extent of their relationship was contained in Quinn’s room; anyone who knew anything more than than was still closely connected to them.

Tina, Finn, Artie. Maybe Mercedes. Quinn knows for a fact that none of them would have said something.

She hopes.

“It’s not that. It’s something. Something she said.” Santana scrunches her eyes closed and Quinn herself finds herself hearing the strained conversation in her head again.

Images of Brittany’s distraught face don’t leave her. Quinn is terrified that she’ll soon see that face on the front page of the local newspaper, national if they’re unlucky.

Something Brittany said.

Quinn wracks her brain because she can’t figure it out. The words pass her in mumbles and soon she’s not just replaying the mall, but everything. All of the words, the moments, the whispers. Intimate or public.

And then she remembers the night she woke up and told Brittany that she could handle it. That she wasn’t something she needed to treat differently to Santana.

“She was-” Quinn mumbles.

“What?” Santana fires, desperate for the clue.

Quinn twitches in the memory. Seeing Brittany at the side of her bed. Talking to her. Trying to convince her. There was something she said.

“-different with me.” Quinn admits out loud, not for the first time, to Santana. “She was careful.”

Santana’s face doesn’t loose it’s tightness. “I thought you’d gotten over that.”

“No, no, she did but before.” Quinn can feel the answer touching at the tips of her fingers. She has to reach out, reach back and grab it. “She said something to me. I asked her...”

“Why?”

It’s coming back to her in infuriating snatches of flashback.

Kisses her with an intent that Quinn hasn’t felt before. She feels swept into this motion and sudden passion that she almost-

“What did she say Q?” Santana directs like this is the answer. Quinn thinks it might just be. They’ve been careful. Too careful.

They don’t even go to Carmel, there’s no way that anyone could’ve-

Brittany’s eyes above her a few nights ago - so full of wonder and something else.

“Quinn.”

“I don’t want to hurt you-

“I don’t want to-”

She can see it all in vivid colour though the night was dark and she was sleepy. And then she sees Brittany speaking but hears nothing. That last bit of sentence that she missed the first time.

Quinn hears it and is chilled to the bone.

“Young.” Quinn stammers. Things and theories are flooding her now without consent. “She said I was just so ‘young’.”

“What?” Santana is frozen in her place.

Quinn feels more drained than she did before. They were careful. They were so careful. But only with her. Only with Quinn.

“Santana-” Quinn chokes out. “Santana she didn’t know you-”

But Santana is already looking like she’s sentenced Brittany to a punishment worse than she could possibly face.

Brittany was always careful with Quinn. Kissing her gently, subtle dates, kind words and quick touches. The suspicion was never there.

Quinn breaks as she has to tell her. “She was careful with me because I’m a student- She thought I was-”

“No.” Santana is white in the face. Quinn can practically hear her mind pulling up all the instances when it didn’t involve Quinn, when it was just Santana. When they weren’t careful.

“She didn’t know you were a student.”

Santana slides down Quinn’s bedroom wall with a world of guilt on her shoulder. Quinn can’t even move to her. She’s blocked by the weight of every public kiss Brittany has given her and all the people who’d probably recognized Santana, because of the school she’s from, because of her family, but mostly because she’s dating Lima, Ohio’s most talked about teenage disaster.

Quinn hears her own promise to Brittany echo in her head. Wondering whether she should have promised something different.

“You won’t hurt me.” Quinn affirms, still lost in the new way Brittany is holding her in. “You won’t hurt us, we’ve been through a lot.”

“She’s going to get arrested.” Quinn spills out in fear. “Even if they don’t connect it to us-” She stumbles over that thought. “-they don’t just brush these kind of accusations off S.”

“Don’t you think I know that.” Santana shoots back with a weak voice. Quinn drops to her knees in an attempt to crawl towards Santana. Her girlfriend is wrapped up in her arms and knees in defense from the truth.

They weren’t as careful as they’d thought.

“Fuck-” Santana seethes lifting her head. “There are hundreds of homophobic assholes in this town that could’ve-”

Quinn cracks. She know that there’s practically only a handful of people in Lima that wouldn’t love to report something like this just because they’re involved in it. They’ve made a lot of enemies from rejecting the social standing of high school and the authority of adults.

“Why didn’t she know?” Quinn asks meekly. Why did she think Quinn was a student but not put together that Santana was as well. They’d studied together. They’d walked around the schools, talked about it.

“I never told her.” Santana breathes out like she can’t believe it herself. Like forgetting something as huge as that was alright. “I just -”

Quinn can see. “You didn’t want her to freak.”

Santana runs her hands through her hair. “After the first night, when we went back to her house...I didn’t even think to tell her. We talked about you more than anything. About your dreams and me just going with you.”

“You made it sound like you were waiting for me.” Quinn reasons hearing bits of the conversation in her head and realizing why Brittany never questioned.

Santana’s knees fall a little away from her body. Quinn shuffles forward.

“You know I don’t care shit for school Q, not here at least.” Santana tries to joke. “Why would I talk about something I only bear because I want to get the fuck out of here, and because I love you?”

There wasn’t a reason to. And that lack of a reason is going to change their lives forever.

Quinn feels speechless, she doesn’t know what to say or what to hope. There’s no trying to cover it up. Brittany is days away from being formally arrested. Hours even if they can find someone that will point the finger towards them.

The suspicion is going to rule their lives.

Quinn feels exposed and alone. She wordlessly parts Santana’s knees and crawls between them. She needs to feel something solid. A constant.

“I love you too.” She pours out against the crook of Santana’s neck. They cling tightly to one another.

Somewhere out there is someone who’s thrown them all in this mess. Someone out there has ruined Brittany’s career if not her life. Someone out there is taking pleasure in their fear and shame they feel.

Quinn finds it hard to find the hope, the light at the end of the tunnel, so tucked into Santana’s warm but shaking body she does something she hasn’t done in years.

She prays.

~

 

She can’t move her feet.

“Quinn, move.” Santana hisses from behind her.

She can’t.

“Quinn.” Santana swiftly moves in front of her, reading the expression of fear on her face and taking her hand roughly. “Look at me.”

Santana’s eyes are dark and sleepless. It’s like looking in a mirror really. Ever since- Sleep has been rare.

And Quinn knows there’s more insomniac nights to come with the appearance of the Lima Ohio PD parked at the front of McKinley. They’re here for them.

“S, they know, they know-” Quinn croaks out not taking her eyes away from the black and white cars. Officers are milling around the front of the building, stopping students at random.

“They don’t know shit -” Santana growls out. She pulls Quinn aside quickly, hiding them behind the dumpsters at the front of the school. People pass them by without too much of a second glance.

Even Puckerman and his gang stumble away from them, eying the presence of the police with suspicion of their own.

“They don’t know.” Santana reassures. “They have nothing to go on, it would have been in the news.”

There hadn’t been any mention anywhere. Not even of an arrest. It was all suspicion.

“What if someone knows or-”

“You think anyone would say anything?” Santana bitterly smirks. “We’ve got good friends Q, they wouldn’t.”

They wouldn’t. Quinn sees the police attempt to stop Kurt as he walks towards the steps. They pass him by at the last second to her relief.

“They’ll protect us.” Santana states with all assurance. Quinn nods but doesn’t move.

“I don’t think I can go in today.” She confesses, feeling sick. Santana shakes her head.

“Normally, I’d be all up on that idea.” She admits. Their gazes trail to the front of their school again. “But today is not a good day to be missing when everyone is wondering who’s been caught with a teacher.”

Not even a teacher from their school.

It takes five minutes and Santana kissing the back of her hand before they’re pacing towards the steps. Quinn tenses and doesn’t know where to keep her gaze. She doesn’t want them to pick her.

Not her. Not Santana.

Her foot steadies itself on the first step. She feels Santana pulling her along, guiding her, while Quinn worries about the cops for the both of them.

The doors are wide open and welcoming. Students wander in and Quinn has never been so thankful to be pulled into a crowd of charging people as one officer makes a motion to her.

‘Too late.’ She’s trapped in bodies and in a whimsical weightless fantasy. Santana pulls her to safety and leans her against their lockers.

They can’t know.

~

 

“Don’t be long.” Santana murmurs in her ear. She moves her arm from the back of Quinn’s chair and let’s her stand up.

Quinn nods with a blank face. Avoiding eye contact with anyone who watches her. Tina and Artie sit opposite them today, Kurt and Mercedes are on a different table. People are starting to notice more things and it hasn’t been too safe for them to all sit together in a while.

Puckerman and Karofsky linger near to her cheerleading friends, staking an unconscious claim on them for sitting at their table. Quinn doesn’t look towards them for too long but there’s ducking heads and hands pointing to papers on the table.

Exams are coming up, even for the jocks.

She glides out of the cafeteria without much care for the people who are watching her go. Her phone buzzes impatiently in her hand but she doesn’t answer it until she’s far enough down the hallway not to be overheard.

“Missing us already?” Quinn takes a look around and backs up against a row of lockers. Within seconds her legs are weakening and she’s sliding onto the floor. Too tired to stand.

“Normally this is were I’d point out that I have made many friends during my lengthy time in New York, many more than I did in Lima,” It’s the know-it-all tone that allows her to deflate.

Quinn breathes a sigh of relief at hearing Rachel’s voice. An outsider. Someone who she can say anything to and won’t be able to judge her harshly or out her secrets to the rest of the world. Someone to confide in.

“-but I didn’t buy a phone just to say that.” Rachel adds, the concern in her voice is deep. Thick layers of worry follow.

“You bought a phone?” Quinn whispers. “But how-?”

“Santana.” Rachel says without missing a beat. “She told Schuester, who told Shelby, who called Jesse who- you get the picture.”

She’s touched by the gesture.

Quinn focuses on the wall opposite her. She can hear background shouts in the rowdy cafeteria. “How much do you know?”

“Enough. Enough to know that you could all be in a lot of trouble if you’re not careful.”

“I know, we’re being...we were careful.” Quinn can’t defend herself. She’s past trying to make excuses or reasons why they got into this thing with Brittany. It was physical, then it was so much more. And now it’s gone.

“Sometimes careful isn’t good enough.” Rachel sighs down the other end of the phone. “Careful isn’t good enough when there’s feelings involved.”

She knows what Rachel means. There was more than just feelings, there was people’s lives - freedoms even. And caring about someone, sharing what they shared - Brittany, Santana, herself, - careful isn’t meant for feelings like that.

“I just don’t know what happened. Everything seems so...calm.” Right. Quinn can’t think. She can’t pinpoint any moments. For herself or for Santana, when someone could have picked up. Though she knows there must have been. There must have been something, some time when they weren’t careful or subtle and someone saw.

It scares her. “It had to have been Santana they saw though. B would never slip up around me.” Quinn says, holding onto that hint of bitterness even in the face of the reality.

A loud noise on the other end of the phone makes her jump against the lockers. “Rachel?”

“Sorry.” Rachel utters something under her breath sounding as frustrated as Quinn feels. “Do you need me to come back? I can. Or I could send someone to find out who tipped them off and go-”

Quinn laughs breathily and quiet. “Who the hell could you send Rach? You’re a smurf.”

She can’t really imagine Rachel ever holding any kind of power to dictate people other than Jesse. The only plausible outcome would be an army sent by Shelby on Rachel’s behalf.

“Hey!” Comes an indignant squeak. “I live in New York, I have connections.”

“To the broadway mafia? Sure thing.” Quinn snorts.

Silence encompasses them comfortably. Quinn itches to get back to the cafeteria. She misses the protective arm of Santana behind her. She feels exposed in the hallway.

“I know you don’t want to talk about this, especially not on the phone but did you and Brittany ever-?” Rachel prompts. Quinn wraps her arms around her chest and brings up her knees. There’s no one around that could hear, but just admitting it seems dangerous.

“We did. Once.”

“Oh. Santana?” Rachel inquires with a casual air that’s too practiced to be real.

Quinn darts a glimpse of the hall she’s just walked down. “More than that. More than me.”

Rachel quietens oddly enough.

“She was the one who started it, when things were awkward.” Quinn explains. She doesn’t want to start at the beginning. She doesn’t want to retrace their inevitable path. “Sometimes it’s just so...”

“So what?”

“Blindingly obvious. How everything fucked up.” Quinn sharply exhales. “We fucked up when I said that Santana could...and again when B didn’t know that we were...” She whispers about them still being in school but Rachel doesn’t judge.

“You both wanted it though?” Rachel asks bluntly. “There was never a moment when you didn’t?”

Quinn stumbles mentally over the memory of seeing her parents and the vicious voices. The paranoia that Santana was going to leave her. But that was her own insecurity. Her own mental barrier to overcome, not Santana’s or Brittany’s. It was the past.

“Always.” Quinn says firmly. They never, other than Quinn’s small breakdown, once said yes to anything they didn’t want.

For a second her thoughts go out to the pictures they took on the night Brittany first touched her. Her first time with her. She wonders where they are and hopes no one other than Brittany will ever see them. Keep them from the light of day, she asks to the world.

“Then don’t beat yourself up over this, I know you want to.” Rachel brushes up with her reasoning. “If you both wanted her, don’t taint her own actions and what she felt for you guys by calling it a mistake. It’s only going to keep this guilt between you all.”

Quinn blanches at the thought that Brittany felt something, something deep, for them. Selfish guilt flickers behind her eyes.

“Keep out of sight, heads down and don’t reach to her.” Rachel instructs like she’s done this before. “And they can’t pin her for anything without evidence.”

Quinn nods a long. It’s been days without news. Without mention of it. Rachel is right.

“Will do.” Her body feels weightless now. Like she’s needed that reassurance off someone who isn’t here, who isn’t connected.

“Good things always happen when you listen to me Qu-Qu.” Rachel giggles. “I’m still here for my kids.”

“I know mom-” Quinn jokes. An actual smile attempts to rise across her cheeks without anxiety.

It doesn’t make it all the way.

A scream shrieks from the other end of the hall. It’s muffled because there’s a corridor between Quinn and the cafeteria.

The sound pierces through the call. “Quinn?”

A door slams out and rebounds off the wall next to it. Tina runs through to the wall before spotting her on the other end.

“Quinn!” She yells without any hint of a stutter. It’s this that surprises her more than anything.

“Rach-” Quinn’s stomach drops at the terror in Tina’s face.

“Go, Q, go!”

She hits the red button and forces herself to her feet. Her wrists hurt from the sudden distribution of weight on them, used to pull herself from the floor. Her feet sting as they slap against the non-slip laminate toward the still moving Tina.

“What’s going on? T?” Quinn shouts. By the time the question reaches her Gothic friend, they’re already colliding. “T?”

“F-f-f.”

Quinn can’t get anything out of her and Tina resorts to yanking her arm and running. Quinn almost hits the cafeteria door with the force of Tina’s desperate movement.

It’s like running into chaos.

Quinn has gotten into her fair share of fights in McKinley. Small, individual fights. But there’s never been a crowd like this.

Quinn can’t see anything but the tops of heads. Screams echo the sounds of slapping and growls and something that could only be the pounding of flesh on flesh.

Punches.

Quinn can’t see Santana.

“Santana!” She tries to find her girlfriend. They can’t be here. They can’t be caught up in this, not so close to exams and to the end of this school run.

“Qui-nn!” Tina latches onto her and points.

There’s a flash of an upraised hand on the other side of the crowd. Second row and trapped between bodies, Santana waves for her attention. She’s not fighting. Quinn’s heart hammers a little less. She’s not fighting, but she’s pushing to get free. To get to whoever is.

And then Quinn feels the bile in her throat and the air leave the room. A dented nose. Puckerman.

“Tina, Tina we have to stop him-” Quinn rushes forward. Bodies act like solid walls and stop her hands. She can’t get through.

Tina pushes at her back trying to help her break the mass student barrier. Their chanting is loud and hateful. Egging Puckerman on, or the fight in general. Quinn realizes she doesn’t know who’s fighting.

“Tina-”

Artie is on the side lines watching in horror. Using her height she can still see Santana struggling. She can’t see, she can’t see -

There’s red.

Quinn can’t tell if it’s just the dark and wet colour she sees at first. The shocking blood colour that coats her vision at first. Or the flamboyant polyester red that she’s seen daily for four years.

In the midst of hearing the wet sound of a fist hitting skin Quinn sees a flutter of paper being thrown over the crowd. Without thinking her fingers reach out and take it from the air.

Puck screams out.

Brittany’s face stares out on the front page of their local newspaper. She doesn’t get the chance to hyperventilate because Tina is calling out.

Santana breaks free from her surroundings and launches forward. Forgetting Figgins. Forgetting school. Forgetting what’s on stake.

Forgetting anything other than the strength needed to pull Kurt out from under Puckerman. Kurt punching Puckerman.

“Tina-”

“It was Puck.” Tina sobs out. She only knows half of the story and Quinn doesn’t have the heart to tell her. The newspaper is fragile in her hands. She can’t be caught holding it. Yet she can’t bare to throw it aside.

Suddenly she’s seeing Puck everywhere. Memories that he can’t have been included in but her warped mind is fabricating his existence in. Quinn knows there was probably only one instance where he could have seen them. And it’s the one that was the most innocent. The one where they said goodbye to her.

Quinn didn’t even know the news of Brittany’s suspected charge had been out then.

“-he just stood up and waved it around. They w-were laughing and S-s-antana-”

Quinn can guess. Quinn can see Santana recognizing the paper, the woman and the headline. Puckerman knew that she would react. To protect herself, to protect Brittany, and start something.

Quinn wasn’t there to stop it.

Yells increase as Santana tries to part the crowd and get Kurt to safety. Quinn is unmoving, just watching. Tina keeps saying things to feed her story but she only hears snatches.

The fear that came to Santana at the sight. The mocking that ensued and then Kurt-

When did Kurt come into the equation?

Kurt who’s never even met Brittany. Only heard of her like a myth in late night talks and the sounds of Mercedes’ gossip.

Kurt who threw the first punch.

Quinn is staring at her hands, at the paper’s bold headline, when Santana pushes the last kid away from her, dragging Kurt behind her. He’s red in the face and purple in the eyes. He’s wearing pride over his bruises and the crowd wants to swallow him back in for overstepping the boundaries.

A slowness enters the situation. A reasoning.

All the times they sneered at Puckerman while silently knowing their victory would come when they got out of here and he didn’t. Every fight. Every rejection. Every blow to his ego and to his face. They’ve all come back to haunt them in this one fact.

He saw them.

He waited until the right moment and finally paid them back in a way that would ruin them.

And they may not have identified her, or Santana, but the paper betrays that it’s only a matter of time now that Brittany has been arrested.

Swallowing the blinding news that makes her tremble on her feet, Quinn grabs a hold of Kurt’s hand and pulls.

They have to get out of here. She has to forget the headline and the images of Brittany alone with cuffs around her hands.

Somehow Puckerman is kept at bay like a muzzled dog and they flee. The hallway covers for them momentarily until they round a corner. They stop.

Santana is still hanging off Kurt as well. The male cheerio is almost unrecognizable.

‘Why did you do this?’ Quinn begs to him mentally. ‘Why did you do this for us?’

His face is a mess. His hair is wild and stuck to his forehead. She swears that he has a fist shaped indent in his jaw.

Her immediate thought is Burt, Kurt’s dad, is going to assault Puck - regardless as to whether Kurt threw the first punch.

Her second thought is that Sue Sylvester is going to kill Puck.

Kurt is shaken to his core. Resting against the nearest locker he clutches his hand in wonder. Wearing the small gaze on his knuckle like a badge of honor. Quinn sees something in his lonely eyes and his battered face that tell her he’s been waiting a lifetime to do that.

“Kurt...” She sympathizes. He tilts his head upwards. His hair seems deflated from the action of throwing a punch at someone. Despite his ability to keep it perfect while being thrown in the air by other cheerleaders.

He shakes his head at her. There’s a story she needs to hear and he needs to confess to her, but not today.

“Guys, I can hear them-” Mercedes bursts out of the cafeteria after them. Quinn widens her eyes at her presence. Even Santana, still heaving loud breaths, is quietened. Tina and Artie see the implications as they do now.

Kurt is stunned to see her follow them, but Quinn isn’t. She’s known that one day it would come to this. Their facades have fallen, their silent alliance exposed, finally.

Quinn pulls Kurt’s hand into her own and brushes his sore knuckle gently. “I love you Kurt.” She murmurs loud enough for everyone to hear the sincerity in her voice. He stills in surprise when she kisses his pale cheek, letting her fingers brush under his ear affectionately. “But we have to disappear now.”

The simple motion of pressing her lips to his skin takes a greater, unspoken weight off his shoulders. One that should have been removed years ago. Forgiveness overdue.

Suddenly the reason for him throwing the first punch becomes clear to her. The Kurt that stares firmly into her eyes is no longer the same scared little boy that ran from her house before her father could throw them out.

Santana holds onto the bottom of her shirt and waits until their exchange is done to pull her in the opposite direction to their friends.

Figgins will no doubt demand their presence if he sees them caught up in this mess. They don’t need that attention, for their sake and for Brittany’s.

Quinn leads them down a set of stairs to an empty floor, to the bathroom never used because of it’s intense cleaner smell. Her bathroom.

“Woah,” Santana lets out when the door shuts behind them. It’s the only thing that she can form, Quinn shared her thoughts.

The faded portrait of Sue Sylvester looks on menacingly while Quinn touches her lips and thanks Kurt silently.

Santana sees this. “Hey.” Quinn gasps when she’s kissed. It’s overwhelming, it’s finality and there’s something unsaid that they both acknowledge.

The news of the arrest, Puck finding out - Puck being the one to tip the police off after seeing them in the mall. Quinn fights anger because it’s not going to accomplish anything now. They can’t help Brittany by doing anything other than staying away. As much as it hurts to.

Quinn feels defeated.

But a small part of her. The proudest part of her is full of glee for Kurt, for these events, as they’ve finally done what Quinn has always wanted to accomplish. Back when she drew the line and waiting for Kurt and Mercedes to cross. She’s brought the Cheerios down, even if it doesn’t look like it.

The full effects are yet to come.

Santana sighs loudly, it echoes around the bathroom. Quinn sees their reflections in the bathroom mirrors. How tired they look. How this has worn on them. News of Brittany, the paranoia that’s haunted them since finding out about the suspension.

“We-” Santana drones out. She’s looking at their mirror-selves as well. Her arm shifts to the side and laces their hands together. Quinn closes her eyes at the contact. She feels untouched.

“I know.” Quinn admits.

It’s taken a while. It’s taken weeks of being with someone other than Santana. Someone wonderful and caring that didn’t deserve the consequences they’ve brought upon her. Someone who’s just been arrested. Someone who’s still protecting them. For Quinn to realize what they have to do.

It doesn’t make her feel any better. Conflict rules her emotions until the only true outcome shines through. Santana’s known longer. Quinn has just been unwilling to admit it. Not until seeing Puck hold up the news like a trophy.

Santana squeezes her hand. “We have to let her go.”

Her throat tightens but she nods to their reflections. They have to.

Santana stands in front of her and combs her hair back off her face. Hands surround the back of her neck. Threading her hair into a pony tail held together by fingers.

Quinn cuts the last ties in her mind. Brittany’s smiling face falls from her thoughts for the last time. If she thinks of her again it’ll be detached and nostalgic.

She’s letting go.

“Okay.”

~


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn’t that they didn’t miss her. They did. Things didn’t just move on as simply as they’d once started but changed. Through her Quinn had found Santana again. She’d found the beginning and the reasons all over again.

Brittany had woken her up to her feelings for Santana all over again.

“-and when I touch you, I feel happy. Inside.” Quinn quietly sings to the music booth. Santana is curled up against her. She’s wearing her glasses, claiming her eyes were tired, though her eyes are closed and asleep.

“-it’s such a feeling, my love.” Quinn isn’t singing as loud as she might if she were completely alone, but just enough to be heard over the backing track. “I can’t hide, I can’t hide. I can’t hide-”

She pushes Santana’s hair away from her face and smiles lovingly down at her. There’s several books scattered around them, study tables and notes for exams they’ll be sitting in a few days.

“Yeah, you got that something, I think you’ll understand-” Quinn likes the simplicity in this song. After everything that’s happened; after all the feelings and the emotions she’s been pit against in the last few months this is what she needs.

She needs the simplistic and the blunt. “When I say that something-”

She has everything she wants now. She’s with the person that loves her, the person that’s always been there for her; her best friend. Her lover.

Nothing changed that.

Not the constant lingering worry of Brittany. Wondering whether or not today was the day that the news would read of her being finally convicted for something yet to be pinned to them.

The worry that they’d be branded as the girls that were preyed on by this irresponsible and sick woman. Quinn feels sick thinking about people even daring to label Brittany as that. It was consensual.

School couldn’t change them either. It was easier than it was before even, since Puckerman wasn’t there to hold the threat of exposure over them anymore.

Quinn smirks. That had been a welcome rush of good luck. Kurt, as Santana had phrased it, had finally paid her back for being part of the reason she was kicked out; by filing a case of sexual harassment against Puckerman for an incident last year in the cheerleading locker rooms. One that Kurt had never admitted to Quinn out of shame.

She realized that he’d never had a crush on Puckerman, it was fear.

Figgins, watched with hawk eyes by Sue Sylvester, had no other choice but to expel Puckerman once and for all.

There was no way anyone would ever believe him now.

There is little to no evidence other than the slip ups Santana confessed to. Slips ups that people can’t pin and at places where they are protected. Schuester’s, the crowded malls and darkened cinemas. They can’t touch Brittany, they can’t reach Santana and Quinn.

“-I wanna hold your hand~” Quinn prolongs and confesses the lyrics like they’re a deep secret. Santana shifts beside her like she can hear her request.

Quinn laces their fingers together with a shaky grip. Every touch is imprinted in her mind. “I wanna hold your hand.”

They’re closer than before, if that’s even possible to tell. They’re stronger.

Quinn finds out that there’s still so much to discover about Santana, and likewise. Things that she’d never ever considered. Further in the future and in the past. About Santana’s big family and how they love Quinn for being with Santana and never giving up on her.

How Santana’s father did confront her parents that night she was kicked out. How her mother didn’t say a word, and her father wouldn’t relent.

She finds out more about her sister.

Quinn squeezes Santana’s fingers slightly.

She’d been sitting with Santana on a park bench looking into the distance. Confiding in Santana that thought she’d had in the grocery store about children with black hair and tan skin. To which Santana had naturally told her if they were having any children Quinn will be carrying them.

And as if that thought called her there, they saw Beth. Santana had actually pointed to her and remarked about how that’s what their child would look like.

‘It’s my sister.’ Quinn recalls saying so tonelessly.

Beth didn’t recognize her as the lady with the noisy basket. She was too caught up in playing with her little friends to cast a look in their direction.

Quinn had stayed until Santana had steered her away, which coincided with finally spotting the rest of the Fabray clan.

She can’t wish for Beth’s happiness any more than she can change what’s happened between herself and the people who raised her for the first years of her life. But she can hope.

“I wanna hold your hand.” Quinn pours out now with watery eyes. It’s overwhelming to glance back at this year. This important year.

They’re so close to leaving. Just a few exams, a few good marks and Quinn will finally get out of here. Santana will finally get out of here. Even if leaving hurts a few people in the process.

A hand squeezes her back. “-and when I touch you, I feel happy-” Santana’s weary voice joins in without missing a beat.

“-inside.” Quinn smiles at the blissful expression Santana beams to her. Nothing can touch them now.

“It’s such a feeling that my love, I can’t hide.” Quinn harmonises. For all their cracks about singing and Glee club, it’s something they like to indulge in.

Maybe in another world, a different Quinn, a different Santana; they would have joined it.

“I can’t hide.”

Maybe in that other world Brittany wasn’t a teacher, Rachel might never have left, and a whole manner of other things could be different.

“I can’t hide.” Santana is stronger now and sits up. Removing books from her knees and stacking them neatly.  
“Yeah, you got that something, I think you’ll understand.”

Quinn’s hands run through Santana’s hair, pulling them close; noses touching lightly. The Beatles keep them on track and close to the finale.

“When I tell you something-” Quinn kisses the space away. “I wanna hold your hand.”

“I wanna hold your hand.”

There’s still a way to go. Things to consider, objects to overcome and places yet to be discovered by them. But Quinn has everything she could ever want in the palm of her hand.

It’s simple. It’s finally simple and right and perfect.

“I wanna hold your hand.”

~

 

It’s all golden. The morning light, the faces of the people standing in the kitchen, the happiness that floods them all. Quinn stares across the table at Mercedes, Santana, Kurt, Mr and Mrs Jones with grateful shock.

“Living together?” Quinn manages. In the hurry of what she’s just been told, along with the open letters lining the table with the first letter of the alphabet on all but one, she misses how similar everyone’s expressions are to hers.

“Are you serious?” Mercedes continues looking at her mother and father’s cunning and proud faces.

“As surgery.” Mr Jones jokes. There’s no laughter, not because it’s not funny, but because the shock is too much for anything else to register.

“But you said you were going to a dental conference. In Las Vegas.” Quinn points out. Remembering that morning. Kurt nods as well.

Mrs Jones shrugs as if to say ‘whoops’. “There wasn’t any other way to look for a place without you all getting suspicious.”

“Hang on,” Santana’s voice cuts through surprisingly calm. “You chose Chicago over Vegas?”

“We chose to think about where you’d all live over Vegas.” Mrs Jones smiles at Santana. “There wasn’t a question.”

“But how did you even know we’d all get in?” Quinn questions.

“Let alone at the same university.” Kurt adds, looking out of place for someone who’s just been told where he’s living next year.

“We’ve known for months.” Mr Jones admits. “All those peppy rallies or whatever Mercedes and Kurt participated in - that coach of yours kept hinting to us about where the scholarship potential was.” Kurt and Mercedes seem to be stuck between a mix of horror and confusion at the idea Sylvester was looking out for them.

Mrs Jones turns to Quinn and Santana. “And you’ve been talking about Northwestern ever since you came here.”

“You shouldn’t have-” Quinn’s voice breaks at the kindness being shown to her. After everything these foster parents have done for her, even after everything they’ve helped her through, they’re still willing to go the extra mile.

“Oh sweetheart,” Mrs Jones looks at them all. “You deserve this. All of you deserve this.”

Mercedes latches onto her father with gratitude and Santana finds herself attached to the side of Mrs Jones.

“Thankyou.” Kurt’s voice comes. He’s as much an adopted child as they are even with a wonderful Dad.

“It wasn’t just us.” Mr Jones implies.

“Thankyou so much.” Quinn spills out. It almost feels as if it’s not happening.

“It’s not fantastic, and you’ll still have to help pay towards it.” Mr Jones explains. Mercedes is the first to take a look at the papers with the pictures of their house in Chicago, the house that the Joneses have found for the four of them. “But it’s close to campus and it’s big enough for all of you.”

“Daddy-” Mercedes passes the piece of paper to Kurt and Quinn.

Three bedrooms. Their own kitchen. A blank canvas. A new life. Quinn can see the possibilities form in Kurt’s eyes just as Quinn can feel it in her heart. She catches Santana’s eye from across the room.

This is it, she thinks.

She can’t say it aloud to anyone. She can’t even acknowledge it until their exam results are tucked away and there are reservations for dinner later.

She holds onto the normal to help her get through it. It is a Sunday after all.

Bliss pores from every fiber of her being. Santana shows up in their bedroom with a plate and honey and Quinn just can’t feel herself anymore. She can’t feel anything other than love and happiness and she can’t contain it.

They’re actually going to get away from here. Away from the whispers, the judgements and all the strings trying to keep them here and oppressed. All those unspoken and forbidden things are gone.

The best part is, Quinn realizes as Santana kisses her with honey laced lips, is that they’re going together.

~

 

The normality of everything is another nail, another notch in the wood. Quinn is jogging in small strides to Schuester’s. She can hear the music from down the street. She can hear the gleeful voices.

They deserve this. They deserve this night to celebrate their exams. To celebrate their lives. Their friendship.

Quinn wants this night with Santana too.

It’s in this blitz of hope and ordinary motions that she collides with the dark cloud of anxiety that’s been retreating for weeks. Except it doesn’t rain on her, rather it surrounds someone.

The shock in her system dies as seconds pass and the woman standing, looking forlornly towards Schuester’s, doesn’t move. Doesn’t walk away or disappear into the rapidly darkening streets.

Quinn’s breathing speeds up and her heart hammers painfully against her chest. Tears don’t well up because she’s burning and dry inside. Every bit of excitement, from the results, from the letters, from the knowing fact that she and Santana are getting out of this cow-town, explodes like shattering glass inside her.

It’s hurts but it’s beautiful to watch.

Brittany doesn’t turn away from the sight of Schuester’s. Something tightens warmly in Quinn’s chest as she sees that Brittany is looking at Santana.

Schuester has Santana gathered in his arms and is twirling her off her feet. Mild embarrassment flushes Santana’s cheeks at Schuester’s display of pride and happiness. There’s Tina, Artie, Mercedes and Kurt no longer restricted in their cheer-uniforms. Everyone gathered for the celebrations tonight.

Schuester finally sets Santana on her feet, Quinn wants to be in there instead of outside wondering if she should be the first to make the move. A beat, another scene. Finn hovers with his usual awkwardness and hopefully raises his hand for a high five.

Quinn takes a sharp breath and approaches with silence. She wants to welcome her. She walks with intention and feels everything she and Santana had come to share with this young woman, illegal or not, knowingly or not; and it’s just as hard as the thought that she’d never see her again.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Quinn doesn’t say it out of hate, or malice or spite. Care laces her words. Concern flies from her mouth.

Brittany turns her head slowly, with more precision and meaning than Quinn has seen her do. The Brittany that stands before her not only knew she was watching her from afar, but probably waited outside to talk to her specifically. Despite the risk of being seen with Quinn, student or not, there are still charges that Brittany is likely to face. Judgement. Disgust.

“I’m not here.” Brittany murmurs looking at her purposely in a ‘don’t tell’ manner that makes Quinn feel five years old.

The air leaves her body.

Brittany’s eyes are rimmed with stinging red that look painful to open and close. Quinn can’t imagine how much she’s cried in the last few months, how much she’s sacrificed to protect two girls she barely knew; girls who should have known better than to screw around with someone’s life.

‘She looks...’ Quinn blanches as a headlight from a car illuminates Brittany’s pale face.

The youth in Brittany is unlike what she remembers. If Quinn didn’t know any better she’d think this woman was no older than her. Her own age.

Staring unashamedly allows her to entertain thoughts of what if? What if Brittany had been a dance student, not a teacher? What would have been different?

A heavy loss weighs in her stomach still. Someone would have been hurt whether Brittany was a student or not. She knows that.

“I’m going back home,” Brittany keeps her voice low and quiet. “-to L.A.”

She clarifies as if Quinn didn’t know. The space between them is becoming mere steps. Quinn doesn’t want anyone to see her, doesn’t want them to come out and disturb Brittany’s confessions.

A sniffle of bravery comes next. “I’m not allowed to teach in schools anymore so-”

Self-loathing bites at her neck and other tender spots. She’s responsible for that. Quinn could easily blame Santana as well, but it was Quinn that was the visible student. She’s the one that Brittany crossed the line with knowingly.

It’s her fault.

“-It’s not-”

“It is.” Quinn stops her before Brittany can excuse anything that’s passed between it. There are regrets they both hold, and maybe always will, but Quinn can’t let her excuse her blame.

Brittany stops. Eyes assess Quinn’s posture. Her party dress, her shoes; the way her hair is parted with a braid. Brittany remembers.

“I’m sorry.” Quinn lets it slip out. She’s said it every night since she saw her in the mall. Since the news broke and Santana explained. The guilt lessens slowly, but confronted with it now, it’s back in full force.

“I don’t want you to be.” Brittany is taken back by her own words, Quinn judges, by the small shock that flickers. “We made some mistakes-”

“You were arrested.” Quinn stresses.

“I was wrong.” Brittany shrugs like she doesn’t even remember the experience. “I was wrong to do what I did to the both of you.”

Bubbles press in the back of her eyes, Quinn doesn’t want to cry now. She’s done too much of that.

Each of them notice this. Deep breathes are taken in sharp intervals to fight off the pressures. Brittany’s hands are tucked deep in her pockets. Her gaze is on the ground by Quinn’s feet.

“I’m opening a dance studio. They probably won’t let me teach but...” Brittany looks up. “I’m okay with that.”

Quinn can’t see the truth in that no matter how sincere Brittany appears. She’s watched the woman before her; watched her walk, run, jump, spin and playfully dance. She hasn’t seen her perform but Quinn can’t imagine there is anything more captivating to watch.

“You’re no-”

“Quinn please.”

Quinn swallows her protest for Brittany’s sake. She can’t keep pushing her regrets on to this woman. This woman who’s been there for Santana, for herself, and sacrificed so much to end up with so little.

Quinn’s apologizes can only rub salt in the wounds.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” It’s a question that’s plagued her for weeks. Why didn’t Brittany say anything?

The allegations were serious enough. Too serious to face alone and yet Brittany didn’t drop their names in the flurry. She kept them safe. She didn’t break.

A self-deprecating smile appears. “Because it would have been selfish.”

Confusion.

“Because I was suddenly the center of a media frenzy and hateful parents who didn’t know if it was their child I had been with. I was the sole culprit but I was also protected by your nameless faces.”

“I don’t understand.” Quinn whimpers. Brittany moves forward, entering Quinn’s direction with a forgotten ease.

“Do you think you’d be getting out of this place if I’d said anything? Do you think I’d be going anywhere?” Brittany asks. “Do you think you would have been able to avoid the stares? The knowledge of what I did, consensual to you or not, in the eyes of other people would have eventually worn you down.”

A hand brushes her cheek and Quinn transports herself back to that first real intimacy. With Brittany. With Santana. To that after-school walk where Brittany laughed carelessly and talked and cupped her cheek innocently and kissed her.

Kissed her like it was only natural to do so.

The hand against her cheek is just as warm but not as heavy against her face. Like Brittany is wary of the contact between them now. Like she fears Quinn. And Quinn wants nothing more than to hold that hand against her face because she doesn’t want to be feared.

“They wouldn’t have let you get out of here whether you graduated or not. They would have found out about you living with Mercedes, your parents-” Quinn freezes. She didn’t know Brittany knew about that. “-your relationship with Santana would have been condemned even.”

“I’m the bad guy Quinn.” Brittany whispers with importance.

She’s not though. She’s not the bad guy. Quinn is. Santana is.

“I didn’t mind playing that role because it protected you.”

“You hardly knew us.” Quinn feels like arguing with more strength but Brittany is sapping her emotions with gentle skin contact.

A weak smile fixes on Brittany. She looks bashful. “I have to go.”

The contact is severed and ice fills her. Quinn wants nothing more than Santana’s warm arms to surround her and to erase the emptiness that’s suddenly consuming her.

Brittany doesn’t have to say anything but the weary glint in her eyes begs Quinn not to say anything to Santana about this. It’s the least she can do.

Brittany backs away and tightens her coat around her body. Quinn selfishly doesn’t want it to end there. She doesn’t want the story to end with Brittany being the source of evil and the victims undefined. They’re all to blame. They’re all hurt.

The words that leave her don’t reassure any of that.

“Did you love us?”

Brittany stills and Quinn feels sick. That wasn’t meant to come out. That wasn’t meant to happen. Her heart almost stops.

She can see the lights of Schuester’s getting brighter. The party is getting louder.

Brittany faces her again with her mask slipping and cracking the longer they interact. Quinn wants to see her smile, a real smile.

All she gets is nervousness and a wistful expression that Quinn has seen in the mirror. One that wishes for things to go back to when they were less complicated.

Quinn’s arms hang uselessly at her side.

“No.” It’s a whisper on the wind that doesn’t strike a final blow to Quinn’s heart.

Because it’s a lie.

“Thank-you.”

There’s no kiss goodbye.

She’s alone.

~

 

She escapes the dancing in the aisle for the familiar territory of the music booths when she finally steps in. People attempt to steal her away from everything but Quinn knows what she needs right now.

Her eyes settle on the middle one. The one that’s belonged to them since discovery.

It’s no surprise that Santana is stilling on the small bench inside. Like people are supposed to. It’s such a strange sight to see. Quinn is so used to seeing piles of bodies strewn across the small floor space. Pillows and blankets hidden under the bench would be thrown across people.

“Hey.” Quinn breathes in the smell of faint smoke and lemon that she’s taken for granted in this booth. In a few weeks they won’t be able to walk through town to crash here. They won’t need it as much as they do now.

Santana raises her head instead of greeting her with a word. The silence is enough. It’s impact doesn’t disturb the rush of memories in this booth.

Brittany’s ghost is disappearing off her body as she embraces them.

It’s where Quinn first gathered all of her friends; from meeting Tina and Artie to coercing Mercedes and Kurt to come and join them. To the brief stay of Rachel and to the fleeting figure of Finn. To Brittany.

“I’m gonna miss this place.” Quinn admits so that Santana won’t have to. It’s difficult for the both of them.

“There’s some things I won’t miss.” Santana adds. Quinn can agree.

She won’t miss the judging eyes of people in the street or the bullies of high school. She won’t miss going to and from Mercedes’ house and people questioning her role in that family, in her family.

Quinn bites her lip. She won’t miss her family. Her blood family. Even if the regret of never getting to tell her little sister she exists lays dormant in her mind. It’s a sacrifice she’s willing to make. The first one she’s made in a long time.

Though she should have made one sooner. Maybe then Brittany would still have a job and her life wouldn’t have been so entwined with self-proclaimed rebels from Lima, Ohio. They could have given her that.

“Yeah?” Quinn asks.

Santana extends her hand. Quinn takes it and feels the burst of love in her fingertips that she’s been wanting since running to the doors of Schuester’s. The dark cloud retreats once more and all she feels is Santana.

Santana pulls her into her lap and closes her arms around Quinn’s waist. Fingers play with the ends of her hair lightly.

“Finn for one.”

“That’s mean.”

“He knows it.” Santana grins. It grows and grows until Quinn is worried it won’t fit on her face. She’s never seen Santana smile so big. “We’re getting out of here.”

Quinn taps their foreheads together. She wonders if Santana can tell she’s been touched by Brittany.

“We are.”

“I never actually thought...” Santana falters.

“Really?” Quinn questions. A part of her, a small self-doubting part, can sympathize. Their task was a scary one. Trying to support themselves mostly into college, with a foster family on one side and a family who can barely put their other four kids into education on the other. Quinn never wanted to take money from anyone. Her stubbornness shared by Santana.

“Us against the world as always.” Santana jokes.

Quinn feels mellow. It’s them again. Just as Rachel once pointed out. Quinn and Santana. The way it should be, the way it should have stayed and has stayed, but not without casualty.

She feels Santana shift and keep her tight on her lap. Quinn tilts Santana’s head back to kiss her warmly. No one disturbs their embrace. Their worlds are separated from the loud music outside; from Schuester singing and the sounds of Artie being wheeled around.

Quinn can feel the edge come back. The biting want pumping under her skin. She wants Santana soon.

“Just us.” Quinn gasps.

Suddenly Santana breaks the kiss. Their lips tease with wet closeness as Santana’s dazzling eyes form a realization Quinn doesn’t share.

“It’s always been us.” She convinces like there was never a question. Like there was never anything else to consider.

Quinn tests the waters. “Even when it was her?”

Mentions of Brittany between them have grown few and far between but seeing her standing so close tonight, having her touch and talk to her, shook Quinn out of the daze she’s been walking through. She’ll always exist to them. Santana blinks and licks her lips in thought. Quinn eagerly accepts another kiss knowing it’s not her answer.

A pause to let the atmosphere soak in. “It never really was her, was it?”

It’s Quinn who falters this time. Brittany meant so much to them in such a short space of time. She was the intense rush. The addictive presence. The wake-up call for Quinn and Santana to realize that all they wanted was what they already had.

But she wasn’t the morning after. She wasn’t the body still next to Quinn at night or the arm slung over her shoulders on the walk home. She wasn’t the bruised fists or the unashamed flirting.

She was the older presence that they needed. But not like each other.

Through it all their constant was the same. Is the same.

Tears water and her voice breaks. “No.” It never really was her.

Her thanks for the sacrifices made in the sake of their relationship go out to the woman walking the cold streets of Lima. That’s the way she would stay, a woman. Nameless but no less important.

Santana lets her finally hear the music awaiting them and their hands don’t stray further than each other’s waists for the rest of the night.

Quinn’s head rings with the confirmation that Brittany was never more than she appeared to them. There was a care, a feeling of sorts, shared mutually. But now? The future?

Santana tucks her hand underneath the base of her neck, under her shirt, while Schuester attempts to make a drunken congratulations speech.

“Just me and you.” She echoes the past.

Quinn brings her closer, smiling with glee. “Me and you.”

 

fin.


End file.
